


I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: December 6, 7:23 pm, London

by amf_wip



Category: Citadel (Journalfen RPG)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 96,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2617472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amf_wip/pseuds/amf_wip





	1. Chapter 1

| **I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: December 6, 7:23 pm, London** |  [[entries](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/)|[archive](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/calendar)|[friends](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/friends)|[userinfo](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/profile)]  
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|  Log: December 6, 7:23 pm, London | [Dec. 6th, 2005| **07:23 pm** ]  
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Christian slams the phone back into its cradle. "Fucking bitch!" he yells at the ceiling. There is nothing quite like a phone call from Faith to ruin his mood.   
  
"Why can't we try to work this out, Christian?" He mimics her simpering tone. "You know you don't want to be on your own. You don't want to grow old alone, do you Christian?"  
  
In a graceful move, he turns, snatches a shoe off the floor, and rises to follow through by throwing it at the wall as hard as he can. It leaves a mark in the plaster, but he can fix that easily enough. The short work of fixing the hole will definitely be worth the measure of peace the action brings him.  
  
He sighs heavily as he looks around the room. He had told Faith he couldn't talk because he was going out tonight, a club called The Basement. It had been a lie, but now he considers it.   
  
Someone new. Someone he's never met before, and will never see again. He nods to himself. _Yeah. I think I will go out tonight._  
  
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	2. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: December 6, 11:30pm, London

| **I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: December 6, 11:30pm, London** |  [[entries](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/)|[archive](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/calendar)|[friends](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/friends)|[userinfo](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/profile)]  
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|  Log: December 6, 11:30pm, London | [Dec. 6th, 2005| **11:30 pm** ]  
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Christian pulls into a parking space across the street from a little club he heard about a few months ago. The unassuming red brick structure hides a scene that's a cross between a foam party and a gay rave, or so he's heard.   
  
Holden shrugs as he sees the guy pull into the parking space. Pretty tame for a guy into what he's he into, from what the lady on the phone said. But whatever, if that's the place he wants to be picked up in, it will be. He pulls his car over and stays back. He shouldn't follow the guy in, she'd said. He should look like he got there after him.  
  
Christian steps into the alley, and tries to keep from grinning. He can feel the beat of the music through his boots as he walks down the stairs to the basement door. He sighs as he opens the heavy steel door. _Perfect._  
  
  
  
The lights are dim, and the music is throbbing through his legs. He heads toward the bar, determined to get a slight buzz before checking out the clientele.  
  
Waiting just long enough for the guy to get into the club, and a few more minutes in case he saw something he liked outside it, Holden gets out and locks the car, eyes gleaming as he makes his way down the alley and into the club. He always likes the pretty ones.  
  
"Rum and coke!" Christian yells, leaning halfway over the counter to make sure the bartender can hear him. He leaves a generous tip, and doesn't feel the least bit offended when the bartender doesn't acknowledge it. It's a busy place, and the guy's working as hard as any manager could want.  
  
In the noise and crowd, it takes a second for Holden to see his quarry is at the bar. Dammit, but he can always get the second. Or third. He makes his way over, grinning a bit at the invitations he receives, but turns down. Even the slightly tempting one.  
  
Christian turns around, and winds his way through the throng to a position where he can see the dance floor. It's packed with bodies all moving in synch with the music's baseline. A couple of drinks and he'll be one of those bodies, unknown and eager.  
  
Without a word, Holden maneuvers into the nonexistent space next to the guy, not touching yet, not even doing anything to get his attention. She'd said he liked to be the one to make the first move, but to try if he seemed to be taking too long.  
  
A pretty face catches his eye, but Bale can't determine the gender. Almost everyone is wearing makeup, and he feels a tad under-dressed for not putting anything on. _Nice back on that one,_ he thinks to himself as he drains half his glass. He lets the wave of movement carry his eyes around the room, over leather and ripped denim, fishnets and silk. He takes another drink of his rum and coke, deciding the next one will be a double. He has to work tomorrow morning, so he can't stay out all night, as much as he'd like to. Faith's phone call had driven an angry spike through a passably good mood, and he needs to get it out of his system or he'll never get to sleep.  
  
Moving just a little, so he can be noticed, Holden seems to be moving to the bar but it's really so the guy can see him - he knows his name, but the lady had said he would rather be anonymous and whatever he wanted, he'd get.  
  
Christian downs the rest of his drink, and starts pushing his way back to the bar. The crowd presses him chest-to-chest with nice eyes and a lickable mouth. He smiles. _Time to get this show on the road._ "Buy you a drink?" he asks loudly, hoping he can be heard over the music.  
  
"I was hoping I could do that for you," he says, leaning in so he can yell it into the guy’s ear. He blows, just a little, testing the waters.  
  
A shiver races from Christian's ear to his cock as he feels the stranger's offer. "Sure," he replies, "that way you can drive." He winks, and starts cutting a path back to the bar.  
  
He follows, grinning. That was the idea. He feels in his pocket for the small bottle. Everything as the guy wants it.  
  
Christian catches the bartender's attention, and calls for a double. He turns a bit to see if the guy with the mouth followed him, and presses back against the person beside him to clear a little bit of space by the bar.  
  
Deliberately he squeezes into the narrow space, making sure his body goes against the guy's, pressing in a little. Oh, yeah.... this will be great. He asks for mineral water, just to make it easier.  
  
Biting back a groan, Christian flattens one hand on the bar, and leans in a little closer, his mouth almost touching the man's ear. "Is it always this crowded?" He rocks his hips forward, and doesn't stifle his appreciation this time.   
  
"Usually," he replies, gliding his hips along the other man. He's almost - almost - sorry he likes it so rough, because this would be fun with just a few little touches of spice too.  
  
The bartender nudges his hand with the new drink. _If we're not someplace where we can get naked soon,_ he thinks to himself, _I'm just going to rub myself off on him right here._ He sighs into his companion's ear, then pulls his head back a bit so he can turn it toward the bar. He brings the glass to his lips, and drains it. "Let's go," he says, his lips ghosting over the other man's.  
  
"Perfect," he says, both about leaving and about how he had worked in slipping the pill into the drink. Just as he'd asked. This is going to get very heated, very fast, if it works on him the way it should. "Somewhere close."  
  
Christian nods. He reaches for the other man's hand, and starts pulling him through the crowd toward the door.  
  
Holden isn’t sure if it's that the crowd is thinning or that they want to get through, but it seems to take less time than it did to get in before they're outside, the air cool. He decides now's as good a time as any to start things, and he pushes the guy against the wall, hard. Not enough to hurt him yet, just enough to know what he's in for.  
  
Christian moans as his back is pressed against the bricks. "Fuck," he whispers as his eyes close and his head swims. He grinds his cock against the man's crotch. "Do it again like you mean it," he rasps.  
  
"What makes you think I didn't mean it the first time?" he growls into the guy's ear. But he does pull him forward, and then push him back, and it's probably harder. Or has more impact and then he's right there, thrusting against him, letting his mouth take the guy's.  
  
Letting the impact force the air from his lungs, he kisses back, and he savours the burn in his chest as his body tries to make him breathe. His cock aches. He wants to bury it in the guy's mouth, in his ass, between his thighs, wants to be taken hard and fast and rough and -  
  
"If we don't get out of here," Holden gasps, pulling back. "You'll be naked and taking my cock where an awful lot of people might see it. Let's go. Now."  
  
He inhales deeply, and exhales in a chuckle. He nods. "Lead the way."  
  
"With pleasure." He takes the guy's arm and doesn't quite drag him, and it's kind of nice that he wants this so much. "This one," he says, unlocking his car. "And no, there isn't enough room in the back seat to try something. I learned that the uncomfortable way."  
  
Christian shakes his head as he gets in. "S'okay. I like a little more room to move around in." He fastens the seatbelt across his lap, and sticks out his hand. "Chris, by the way."  
  
"Oh, yeah, we skipped that. Holden," he says. No one knows, except him, if it's a first or last name, and that's the way he likes it. "There'll be plenty of room where we're going. Well, at least before I tie you up..."  
  
"Perfect." He strokes his cock lightly through the denim of his jeans. "Is it far from here?"  
  
"Not so you'd notice, and... god, yeah..." he says, the last more a moan of appreciation than verbal. He drives right on the limit - wouldn't want to risk being stopped - for a few blocks until they get to the place she sent the keys for. "Not much, but it's enough," is all he says. He's supposed to pretend he lives here. Converted industrial building of some kind.  
  
Christian nods, giving the building the quick once-over of a man recently moved. _Not bad,_ he thinks to himself. He pulls his hand back from Holden's lap. "Can't wait to see it." He unclips his belt, and reaches for the door handle.  
  
"It has a fully stocked playroom, which is all that's necessary, right?" he grins and gets out, locking the car. He opens the door and flips on the light switch. "Home sweet home."  
  
Christian grabs Holden's arm as soon as they're both inside, and spins him around to push him face-first against the door. He grinds his cock against Holden's ass. "Which way do you want it?" he hisses in his ear.   
  
"Fuck..." and if he could, he'd ask for him to fuck him here and now, but he knows, this is only the pretense, the build-up, that he wants to be taken down hard. It doesn't seem like it, but that's just the drugs talking; he wants it to be a fight.  
  
"Sure," Christian whispers, and spins Holden around again, shoving him against the door once more. He drops to his knees, and starts mouthing Holden's cock through his jeans. He reaches down to give his own cock a rough squeeze, and closes his eyes with a moan.   
  
He has to gather himself, do what he's been asked to, but he lets him do this a bit longer. Just a bit. "Get up. Now," he says. "In through that door. Playroom."  
  
Christian looks up at him through his hair. "Make me," he whispers against the denim.  
  
Cynical smile, then he moves, harshly, so quickly that Christian has to pitch forward. "Now!" he repeats.  
  
Christian barely catches himself. He grins as he stands up, and starts crowding Holden toward the wall again. "Safeword's Arkham," he says softly, their mouths almost touching. He tilts forward a little more than he expected to, and ends up leaning against Holden's chest. "I think that last drink is catching up with me," he laughs self-consciously. _Didn't think I had turned into that much of a lightweight,_ he thinks to himself. _I didn't have much to eat today though._  
  
"Right," he says, and he can't quite help a smile. He'd been told that the safeword was for show only, and that the real one was Wayne. "Got it," he says, and smiles. "Drinking does that," he says, licking his lips in anticipation. "Sometimes when you least expect it."  
  
Christian smiles back. "Glad we've got the formalities out of the way," he says, unaware of how his words are starting to slur. "So, are you going to make me go in there, or are we going to just fuck on the floor?"  
  
"I'll make you," Holden says, wrapping a hand in Christian's hair. He pulls, hard, not enough to break the strands but hard enough for him to know he's not just playing.   
  
Christian moans. _That's more like it._ His cock twitches, and he wants to be out of his jeans, needs to feel air on his skin. His hands smooth down over the buttons of his fly. "I don't think you can," he murmurs as he arches up into his own touch.  
  
"I can," Holden says. "I'm strong enough to pick you up over my shoulder and take you in, but that wouldn't be half as much fun." He manhandles Christian to his feet and drags him, waiting to see if he's up to fighting.  
  
Christian tries to break free. He pulls in the direction he knows Holden's grasp on him will be the weakest. "You wish," he laughs, but he doesn't get as far away from his new friend as he thought he could. _God, that grip's going to feel good._  
  
"You don't think you're getting away that easy, do you? Do I need to tie you already?" He picks up a scarf, and starts twisting it around Christian's wrists. "Or do you prefer this?" He spanks him, once, lightly.  
  
Christian laughs again. "You think I'm afraid of a little spanking?" He lurches to his feet unsteadily. "Is that what you brought me here for?"  
  
"Of course not," he says. "I know what you want." Without another thought - or he'd probably pull it and that's not what he wants - he hits, hard. Like his employer wants.  
  
His head rocks sideways, and he nearly loses his balance. The backhand was unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. He turns his head slowly to look at Holden again. "Son of a bitch," he says softly, almost respectfully, but not quite. He touches the side of his hand to his lip. A small spot of blood spreads through the tiny lines of his skin, and he licks his lip, making it sting. He rubs the blood off onto the hard ridge of his cock.   
  
"You wanted it that way," Holden shrugs, and fuck if that isn't the most erotic thing he's seen tonight, and it has serious competition. "Now get in there or I _won't_ hit you again."  
  
Christian's eyes widen, and only the knowledge that a split lip won't look good tomorrow at work keeps him from grinning for all he's worth. He pulls one side of the careworn button fly of his jeans, releasing all the fasteners at once with a deft snap downward that he's barely coordinated enough to manage with his hands tied. His cock bobs as he drops to his knees, and, keeping his eyes on Holden's crotch, he shuffles toward the playroom door.  
  
"Good boy," he says, and he almost cringes, that was the one thing she said he couldn't call him. This might end things completely. But he could be far enough under not to notice if the fumbling movements meant anything, so Holden just pauses, waiting.  
  
With a scowl, Christian stops cold. "Arkham." He tries to lean forward so he can get to his feet, but the hand holding the scarf doesn't let go. "Arkham," he says again, a little louder this time.  
  
Oh, so not such a limit after all. He won't use it again, though. "What?" he asks, playing shocked. "I haven't..."  
  
He looks up. "Do not call me boy." He pronounces each word carefully, bitingly.  
  
"Sorry," he says. "I won't again. You didn't mention it as a limit, or I wouldn't have done it the first time." He realizes that it's true, it's only his knowledge of it from the lady that makes it a bad thing.   
  
"Let me up."  
  
"No." He hasn't used the safeword, not the real one. "You don't want to be." He moves over to him and carefully places another punch. No marks that would show the next day he'd been told, so he has to take care where he hits.  
  
"Fuck!" He doubles over as the wind is knocked out of him. It takes a few minutes before he can force his lungs to draw in a breath. "Jesus!" he coughs. "Arkham! Let me up." He pulls against the scarf again.  
  
"Okay," he says, but he has no intention of untying him. He does let Christian up, but only so he can push him into the playroom and lock the door behind them. He moves closer, hand wrapping around his cock. "Is this better?" he whispers into Christian's ear. "Is this what you want?" He scratches along the sensitive skin, hard enough for him to notice even through the drug haze.  
  
Warning bells are going off, but he needs to get Faith's voice out of his head, needs to feel wanted and useful and precious. "Look, I need a few minutes." He braces his hands against Holden's chest and pushes. "I need... I need to get back into my headspace. Just give me a few, okay?" His cock isn't as hard as it was in the foyer, but he's pretty sure the night's not a complete write off. He still has enough of a buzz that he thinks he can get back into the groove if he can just get some breathing space.  
  
He can give him that, it's no problem. He's always been good at reading a scene and he knows this isn't a polite way to put him off. "Sure. And I should probably know if there are any other limits beyond the usual suspects - anything most people consider hard limits would be the usual suspects."  
  
Christian sighs, and rubs his hands over his face. His lip still stings, and his stomach's a pleasantly tight knot from the punch. He licks the abrasion again, the taste of copper clearing his head a little. "Sorry. I should have warned you, that was my fault. I just... really don't like being called boy." He shakes his head. "Limits... No scat, no showers." He squints up at Holden. "Could I get a glass of water?"  
  
"Just a second," he says. "Limits are fine, I'm really not into anything too elaborate, just what we've done only more intense, pretty much." He leaves Christian with that thought as he gets him a glass of water, and adds just a little powder to it, not a full second dose, just enough to get past the awkward stage. He uses the powder this time because it dissolves faster in water.  
  
It sounds perfect, exactly what he's looking for, if he can just get past one little word. Why hadn't he done this in the car on the way over, set the boundaries? It's a common word in scenes like this, and he knows it. _Shit._ He rotates his shoulders, takes a few deep breaths. "Intense is good," he calls out as he waits for Holden to come back.  
  
"So I've been told before," Holden smiles, tentatively, as he hands Christian the glass after he unties his hands just enough so one can take it.  
  
He presses the cool glass against his forehead, rolling it slightly across his skin. "I didn't... normally I would have told you about that in the car. About that word," he clarifies. "I, ah.. I'm sorry about that." His hand trembles a little as he brings the glass to his lips and drinks.  
  
"And I should have asked before, too," Holden replies. "It's just... you're the first who's safeworded about it. Not a common limit. Let's just put it behind us?"  
  
He drains the rest of the water and nods as he hands back the glass. "Yeah. Just give me another minute." The room spins. "I'm just..." He waves his hand near his head.   
  
"I understand," he says. "No use playing if you can't enjoy it, right?" he stretches, showing off his body, as he moves to put the glass outside the room.  
  
The floor seems to rise to meet Christian's knees, and he doesn't even consider trying to catch himself until his forehead almost hits the tile. He stays that way a moment - head down, ass up - before pushing himself back up into a kneeling position. "Right," he exhales as he tilts his head back, and closes his eyes.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asks. "Still the alcohol?" Of course he knows very well what it is, the drugs are having the effect he desires.  
  
He reaches out a hand. "Fine. C'mere." He gropes blindly for Holden's waistband.   
  
"Sure you can get it undone?" he asks, moving forward. Hissing a little as bare skin meets those fingers and it's a shock how good it is. He hasn't felt like this in a long time and again he almost regrets the rough treatment. Almost.  
  
Christian wraps a hand around Holden's bare cock. He licks it from root to tip, tongue leaving a wide wet patch. "I think I've got it," he whispers hotly over the cool damp skin.  
  
"Yeah..." He lets himself get lost for a few minutes, that mouth is enough to drive him crazy. Just a few minutes. That's all. "Up," he says after taking longer than he really should. "Got other things to play with."  
  
He nuzzles the cock in front of him as he pushes his own jeans down to where his knees meet the floor. He balances unsteadily on one, and then the other, as he works the fabric down to his ankles.   
  
"That's good," Holden says, "even though I didn't say to do it." He rewards that with a stinging, painful spank, much harder than the small taps of earlier.  
  
"Was I supposed to feel that?" He moves to wrap a hand around each cock, then realizes the four or five inches of slack in the scarf isn't nearly enough. He ignores his own arousal in favour of the one dangling in front of him.  
  
"You didn't feel that? Has your ass gone to sleep?" Holden chuckles. He really wishes they could just... play. But again, he's not here for that. "Want me to make you feel it?" he pitches his voice low.  
  
Holden's words pull a groan from deep inside Christian. "Please." He traces his fingertips over Holden's balls, and licks the drop of precum off the tip of his cock.  
  
"Yes..." he says, moving, pulling Christian up, roughly. "Over here..." he pulls out a set of cuffs, attached to the wall, but instead of putting them around Christian's wrists, he fastens them over the scarf, putting him in two forms of bondage. He lets him stand there for a moment, contemplating what to use.  
  
Christian tugs against the restraints. "Can't handle me if I'm not all tied up?" he taunts. He shifts from one foot to the other unsteadily. Having his hands up is throwing his balance off.  
  
"I can handle you just fine, but considering you got about three times harder when I mentioned it, I figured you'd like it." He decides on the cane. He's allowed to draw blood below the neckline and off the hands, he remembers. He also gets out condoms and lube so he doesn't have to look for them later. He has the feeling he might be distracted.  
  
Christian tilts his head back and gives the cuffs a test tug. "Get rid of the scarf," he suggests. "Let me feel the metal."  
  
"Okay," Holden says, putting the cane down out of Christian's view. He moves up to untie the scarf first, slightly annoyed at his skill because it takes longer than it should.  
  
He shifts to rub his bare cock against Holden's thigh. "Yeah, like that."  
  
"Yeah?" He licks over Christian's skin as he works, tasting him. Again he wishes he was into less extreme stuff. If he weren't, he could just *grind* until they both came, then fuck Christian through the mattress. But no. That isn't what he'd been asked to do.  
  
"Fuck yeah," he exhales, arching into the other man's mouth. "Didn't expect this tonight," he confesses. "Didn't think I'd find someone like me."  
  
"We're... everywhere," Holden murmurs, biting softly. He knows he should be getting on with this, but it's lazy and he doesn't have to rush... though the lady did say it should be over as fast as possible. Still, he can take a few moments for himself. "Glad I ran into you."  
  
Christian groans in agreement. "Harder. Bite harder." His cock twitches when he says it, and he twists to smear his precum on Holden's pants.  
  
"Harder?" He does, knowing it's going to bruise and figuring it's a hint to get on with it, too. He nips, again harder, and slips the metal around Christian's wrists. It's too tight, there's no give at all, the bands just hug his wrists. That isn't safe, moving the wrong way could break skin or bone, and Holden goes to unsnap them. "Just a second..." he licks Christian's ear. "Just a little too tight. I'll loosen them."  
  
Christian stretches his leg out to hook it around Holden's waist. It's awkward as all hell - arms up, balancing on one foot - but he's horny, and he's not in nearly as much pain as he wants to be. "Fuck me first," he rasps. "Hard and fast. Use me." He doesn't like to be so direct about what he needs, but this guy isn't Citadel, he doesn't know Christian, he won't understand what spitting "Fuck off" means. His dick bobs again, and a drop of clear liquid hangs just on the verge of dropping to the floor. "Hard and fast, till you're satisfied, then hit me till you're hard again."  
  
 _That should shut her up,_ he reasons. _That'll silence the harpy for a while._  
  
"Oh, fuck, yes..." Holden just can't resist what Christian is offering. He reaches blindly for the lube and condom, managing to get the latex over his cock, and lubing it quickly. He doesn't lube Christian because he's been told not to do that, he likes it to hurt. He does stretch him, carefully, though. "It won't take much, I have practically no refractory period," Holden says before moving back and pushing into Christian. He doesn't take it slow.  
  
He bites his lower lip to keep quiet. He wants more, needs more, more sensation, more ache, more of Holden's voice. "You call that fucking?" he asks when he's sure he can do it without panting.  
  
"I call it a *beginning*," Holden replies, and pulls out to slam back in. That's got to hurt, it's making him ache in a way he doesn't especially like. But it's not about what he likes.  
  
Christian leans back in his restraints, letting his wrists take most of his weight. His legs feel weak. He knows it's not from the pain, not yet. This isn't even close to what Rupert did to him not too long ago.  
  
Holden adds hitting, again, to the repertoire, his hands batting at Christian's shoulders as he fucks him, harder and faster.  
  
"Want me to show you how it's done?" Christian offers. His words are slurring again. "Show you how to treat a whore who picks up complete strangers in bars?"  
  
"Not that I need it, but why don't you tell me what you want, then?" He bites, hard, drawing blood this time, which shocks him a little. He hasn't ever bitten anyone like that.  
  
A hiss and the clenching of Christian's ass around him are his rewards. "Want you rough. Hard." He wants and doesn't want something to rub his cock against. "Fuck me like you mean it, like the whore that I am. Fuck me like I'm your bitch." He's not usually this vocal unless he's topping. He usually doesn't have to be. "Wrap your hand around my cock," he pants.  
  
This was what she'd said, that he liked to ask for it, beg to be used. "I don't think I will," he says, at last. "You'll have to earn that, and you haven't yet. Maybe when I fuck you again. Maybe." He moves in and out, harder, slamming into Christian, knowing he's drawing blood and not caring any more. It's like whatever it was that had led him to wish for a gentler experience went away with Christian's words, like he was reminded of this being a job and not a pick-up. "Whore, that's what you are, picking up someone you don't even know in a bar, coming home with them, asking them to do things no normal person even thinks about."  
  
"Give me a fucking reach around, asshole!" Christian yells. "If you're going to push that little fucking dick in me so sweetly that I can barely feel it, the least you can do is give me a fucking _hand job_." Holden's getting it now. Christian tries to brace his feet, make each thrust as hard as possible, but he doesn't have much for leverage or balance.  
  
"Little? Oh, you're gonna pay for that, slut." Holden slams into him again. "You're not gonna be able to walk for a week when I get done with you."  
  
"I doubt that," Christian taunts back, arching into every thrust. His shoulder's a little sore from being shoved into the wall, but it's nothing. He wants more, needs it if he's going to come.   
  
He knows it's true, he can feel how much he's stretching Christian as he slams into him, over and over. Harder and harder, bracing himself on the floor, not even enjoying it any more, it's hurting him, but he can handle it, he just won't come too easily. He bites down again, not drawing blood this time, but leaving a hell of a bruise - it's already starting to go purple.  
  
Christian shudders when he feels teeth pinching his skin. His cock is dripping steadily, and he's starting to think he might come without it being touched at all. Holden's perfect, hard and rough, and the biting reminds him of Rupert, and he likes it. "Do it," he whispers. "Fuck me until you can't take it anymore. Use me. Pound that fucking cock into me until your balls are so full that you have to get rid of all that cum."  
  
"Not... not going to take long," Holden gasps out. This is... he's not sure what it is. It's not what he wants and yet a part of him likes it. Because it's what Christian wants and that's what's important here, and he's clearly into it. He pounds into him, and it doesn't hurt any more, but he looks down and he can see there's blood and that isn't really a turn-on but looking up and seeing Christian's head bowed, that is a turn-on. Another bite to the back of his neck, more pounding and Holden's not going to be able to hold it much longer. "Come, whore," he says. "Come!"  
  
His whole body's on fire, hot then cold then hot again. He tries to get a grip on the chain holding the cuffs around his wrists, but his fingers are tingling and he can't clench them. The almost steady drizzle of pre-cum stops, replaced by thick white ropes of jizz that splatter over his feet and the floor. He loses his balance, and jerks down on the restraints. He hears a _pop_ , but he's so far gone that it just sets up the ache in his balls again. "Please, please, fuck, touch me," he begs, head tossing back and forth.  
  
"How?" Holden gasps out. He's so close, and Christian moving like that, fuck... he's just slamming into him, not even thinking any more, just needing to get off himself, and god, he's so tight and.... he comes on that thought, filling the condom, feeling it move up through the latex and drizzle out, wet on his skin and Christian's.  
  
"Suck, please, Jesus, _please_." He ends on a desperate whimper. His balls are empty but he needs it, just a little more stimulation to make him forget why he went cruising tonight to begin with. He can't get his legs back under him; between cum and sweat he can't get a purchase on the tiles.  
  
Pulling out, Holden turns Christian around, not even noticing that he winces, then moving to his knees, sucking, licking, cleaning up the cum that's all over him. "This what you want, slut?" he says between licks.  
  
Christian just starts to get his feet under him when Holden's tongue scrapes along the underside of his cock. With his mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, his biceps clench and pull him up a little. His head tilts back, he catches a quick glimpse of the raw skin of his wrists, dirty ceiling panels, and then his world goes black.  
  
The cock in Holden's mouth twitches weakly, would have come again if he'd had anything left to give. Christian's unconscious form dangles limp from the handcuffs.  
  
"Well, at least he got what he wanted," Holden says aloud, moving back off Christian's cock, just looking at him. He has everything, and yet he likes this. Likes being practically raped by a stranger. Needs drugs to get off. It's sad, really. He remembers the orders. Stop once he blacks out, take him back to his car, someone will pick him up there, Holden is just to leave him and not look back. He can do that. But he has a feeling he won't be taking on any more clients like this. It messes with his head too much. Straight sex for money - well, straight or gay, he's not *that* picky - won't mess with his head. He takes Christian down from the cuffs, noticing how swollen his wrists are, wondering if it overstepped the terms. He's not that heavy, he realizes, dressing him again, pulling on old sweats himself. They'll do for this late night run.  
  
It's too easy to get him out to the car and put him in the front seat, and Holden drives to the club in less time than it took them to get to his place earlier. He takes Christian out, again realizing how light he is, and props him against the car. He really hopes the people waiting to pick him up are nearby, because if he's left here alone too long, people with no scruples... well, he was told they would be along, so he manages to quell that thought. It's not his responsibility now. But he still feels a pang and wants to wait until a car comes by. If he hadn't been told it wouldn't stop if he was still there, he would. But as he was, he reluctantly climbs back into his car, and starts the drive back home.  
  
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	3. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: December 7, mid-morning, London

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|  Log: December 7, mid-morning, London | [Dec. 7th, 2005| **09:00 am** ]  
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Most days, Jonny can avoid having to talk to Christian. Not that he tries. He likes the guy. But sometimes he just doesn't have the energy to work through that tough exterior the duty manager exudes. Today, however, he needs him. Worse yet, it's Wednesday, Jonny's day off. But there's a matter of holiday scheduling and it can't wait till Jonny's officially back at the club Friday.  
  
So he strolls into the club mid-morning, after he's seen Gerry off to work, and plans on making a quick stop, in and out, but Christian's nowhere to be found. He's not in his office, which is unusual in itself, and no one's seen him. He heads to the front desk.  
  
  
  
"Morning," he says, looking at the name badge, or rather trying to read it against the curve of breast. "Uh, you know where Bale might've gotten to?"  
  
She shakes her head. "No one's seen him all morning," she explains. "The night manager left a note for me to give to him though." She pulls a small envelope from underneath the bar. "Could you give it to him when you see him?"  
  
"Sure." Jonny takes the note and unfolds it, reading as he walks back to the bar area, off-chance Christian's hanging around there. The note was obviously written by two different people.

>   
>   
> _"Bale at Basement. Needs pick up_ ASAP per George. Waiting at car in parking lot across street."  
>   
> "Couldn't find the place. Drove around for 2 hrs, no luck. Thought I knew where you meant. Called two cab companies, sent them out, bar to pay from petty cash. Will pay back asap." 

  
  
"Who the hell is George? Basement." Jonny processes as he looks around. No sight of him. "The club? Okay, that's a start."  
  
He's heading back out the door, shoving the note into his pocket as he walks toward the Tube station, mentally mapping out which stop will be closest. It takes a half hour before he's walking down the sidewalk toward the club, heading across the street. Only problem is he's never really paid attention to what kind of car Christian drives, even if he's in his own car.  
  
There are three cars in the parking lot across from the bar. Two are close to the street, and side by side, so it's unlikely that they're leftovers from the night before. They aren't exactly in great condition, either.  
  
The third car, however, is near the back of the lot. It's only a year or two old, and it looks well maintained. No one is waiting outside the car, and there's no one visible above the dash.  
  
Jonny walks past the cars nearest the street, making a casual glance inside. Nothing. He heads to the back of the lot. Only car left, but no sign of life. He peers in the window, spying a huddled mass on the floor. "Oh, great, he's passed himself out." Jonny raps on the glass. "C'mon, Bale, wake up. Ride home's here."  
  
It takes a moment or two for the person inside to respond, but once he does, he's fast.   
  
His head shoots up from where it was resting against his knees, giving Jonny a split-second view of wild eyes, a bloody lip and a bruised jaw, and he tries to pivot in the small space on the floor between the seat and the dash. He scrambles for the door handle with one hand. The other arm is tucked in a protective fashion against his chest. Both wrists are black and blue.   
  
The lock automatically opens once he manages to pull the lever, and he's dumped unceremoniously onto the pavement. He tries to struggle to his feet, but he can't seem to coordinate his limbs enough to stand.  
  
If Jonny didn't know better, he'd swear he's picking up Cameron after a particularly nasty night with Simon, but it's neither on the pavement, just Bale. He squats down, puts a hand on Christian's shoulder. "Steady. Don't go to running all at once." He surveys the damage, bruises and blood. "You didn't do this to yourself, did you?"  
  
Christian can't seem to focus on Jonny, or won't. His eyes dance across Jonny's torso, but never look up as far as his face. He flinches away from the hand on his shoulder, whispering "Arkham" over and over in a voice much rougher sounding that his usual calm, soft tone.  
  
 _Arkham._ Jonny sighs. He's familiar with the reference, but isn't sure of the context at the moment. "Okay, let's get you up and back in the car." He half-stands, puts his arms under Christian's. "No good sitting out here."  
  
Christian jerks away from Jonny like he's been burned. He seems to be trying to protect his right side, and still has his right arm tucked up against his chest. He tries to fend Jonny off with his left hand, but it's a weak effort.  
  
Jonny's not fazed by the resistance. He's dealt with enough of that sort of thing before. He _is_ curious, though, and starts to question as he gets a better grip on Christian, pulling him back up into the car seat. "What'd you take?" He rubs a hand down over the wrist bruises. "Let someone cuff you, too?"  
  
Christian starts to tremble. He shakes his head back and forth slowly. "I don't know," he whispers, barely audible over the sound of a car driving past.  
  
"Words. That's good." Jonny smoothes strands of hair from Christian's forehead. He keeps his voice calm, level, the way Cameron talks to him when he's mixed and matched way too many narcotics. "Do you know who you are?"  
  
He nods hesitantly, and licks his lips. "Christian," he whispers. He pulls his right arm tighter against his chest, and a shudder runs through him. "I don't..." he shakes his head. "I said Arkham." Tears form in his eyes as he tries to fight off the rising swell of emotion, but he's too tired, too sore, too confused. His voice breaks on the last word, and he looks up to meet Jonny's eyes. "I said Arkham."  
  
"What's Arkham? Other than an asylum?" Jonny tugs at Christian's arm, pulling it away from his chest, trying to assess if where the damage is. "Keys, Bale. I need 'em to drive you to the hospital."  
  
Christian cries out when Jonny touches his arm, and recoils from him as best as he can while trapped inside the car. "N-no hospital." His shoulder looks a little off, somehow, like it doesn't quite match the left one.   
  
"Yes, hospital." Jonny eases the arm back into what might be a more comfortable position. He suspects dislocation, possibly break. Someone beat the hell out of the boy. "Don't worry. I have a friend who takes care of things like this." It's a perk of living on the wrong side of bad shit, having ER buddies. He shakes his head, letting the unanswered question pass.   
  
"Keys, Bale," he says, looking past to see they're not in the ignition.   
  
Christian shakes his head. "No hospital," he rasps. "Too many people. No hospital." His eyes start to get that vacant look again, but then he blinks and seems to wake up a bit. He looks at Jonny intently. "I said no," he whispers. "I said Arkham."  
  
It takes a minute of thought process, something Jonny's not really ready for this early in the day, and he realizes Arkham equals stop. Safeword. "Okay, you told him to stop." He scrounges around the seat and the floor until he finds the keys. "He didn't. Who's he?" He tucks Christian into the seat more securely and steps out, shuts the door and heads to the driver's side.  
  
Christian closes his eyes. He feels safe now, although safe is not a word he'd normally associate with Miller, or the idea of Miller driving his car. He waits until he hears Jonny get in, and the door close. "Guy from the Basement," he says softly. "Nobody." He doesn't want to look at Jonny, doesn't want to see what Jonny thinks of him, doesn't want to see judgment and accusation and blame.   
  
He knows it's his own fault.   
  
He keeps his eyes shut tight as he rests his head against the window. He doesn't want to think, but he can't allow Jonny to decide where they go. He doesn't want to be tabloid fodder, couldn't handle that further invasion of his privacy. "No hospital," he repeats. "Call a doctor from the Club, but no hospital."  
  
"Trust me, Bale." Jonny turns over the engine, pulls out of the parking lot. "I know what's best. Hospital's private, the doctor's Club-sanctioned." He's not going to argue with Christian over the matter, nor is he going to judge too harshly.  
  
He drives another few minutes before saying anything else.  
  
"There a reason you let him get to the point of needing to safeword?" Jonny knows Christian has a penchant for rough, but has never understood just how deep it went. "You wanted to end up broken, I guess. Work through something." That much he does understand, the need sometimes for pain to outweigh all else.  
  
As they pull out of the parking lot, Christian rolls his head away from the window. He watches Jonny's hands on the wheel as he drives, letting the motion of the car wash away some of his anxiety.   
  
His brow creases when Jonny asks about the events of the night before. "We didn't..." He's not sure how to finish the sentence. How can he explain that he used his safeword, not because of the violence, but because Holden had said 'boy'?  
  
"It wasn't like that," he sighs. "There was a scarf." He raises his left wrist, then lets it drop back down to his lap. "I don't know..." He closes his eyes again. "I don't know what happened," he confesses.  
  
Jonny glances over. "Those aren't scarf burns." At a stop, he reaches over and rubs Christian's wrists. "No. Metal, my guess. I've used scarves _and_ cuffs on boys and they don't abrade the same way." Hands back on the wheel, he's pulling off again.   
  
"Do you know if you agreed to what happened? Or was it rape and a nice beating to end the night?"  
  
Christian watches Jonny's hand move and touch his wrists. He's never really given Jonny's hands much thought before, but now, despite the pain that radiates up both arms, he's mesmerized by them. It feels strange, being disconnected from the pain.   
  
His voice sends another shudder through him. "I didn't..." He swallows, wishing he had a bottle of water. George comes to mind for some reason, but Christian isn't sure why. "I'd remember saying yes." He folds his arms as best he can across his chest, disturbed by the knowledge that the last thing he clearly remembers is saying no.  
  
"Maybe." Jonny goes silent after that, concentrating on the last few turns before they're at the hospital's back door. "More'll come to you as you get more coherent. C'mon, we'll get you inside."  
  
Christian is reluctant to leave the safety of the car. He moves slowly, partly to delay things and in part because he hurts, everywhere. His shoulder is throbbing, his wrists are on fire, the muscles in his stomach ache, and the attempt to shift from sitting to standing makes him hiss. Tears fill his eyes again, and he can't do it. His feet are lead weights, too large and heavy to move.   
  
He raises his head to look at Jonny. "I can't," he mouths, unable to speak or he really will cry, right there in the parking lot in front of Jonny and the world.  
  
Jonny leans over, touching his hand to Christian's face. It's an odd gesture, too familiar for strangers, which is what they are to some degree, but it seems right. "Christian, you have to get out of the car. I can do a lot, but I can't set bones."  
  
Christian stares at him for a moment, and then looks away. His hand isn't quite quick enough to hide the tears. "Don't touch me," he tries to whisper, but it comes out as a sob, and he doesn't have the strength to hold his emotions in any longer. He curls up against the car seat, the fingers of his good hand clutching at the fabric as he wails.  
  
"Fine. I won't. But you have to move on your own, then." Jonny slowly pulls his hand back, rubs the back of his fingers over Christian's shoulder. He's reluctant to make too much forward movement, not wanting Christian to bolt completely. Not that he could, shape he's in. "You wanna sit here? I'll get John to come out, talk to you."  
  
Christian shakes his head slowly, tears dripping unheeded off his chin. It takes almost ten minutes for him to get himself together. Even when he nods toward the hospital, his mask isn't quite up; his eyes are bloodshot, he's trembling, and he won't make eye contact with his co-worker.  
  
Jonny takes that for an agreement to move, so he gets out of the car and goes around to Christian's side, opens the door and offers his hand. "You can lean on me, whole time. I won't leave." Somehow he thinks that's important, for him to say, for Christian to hear.   
  
He stands unsteadily. He nods in response to Jonny's promise, but he doesn't even try to speak. He huddles against Jonny like a small child afraid of the dark, or an old man too weak to manage on his own.  
  
This close, pressed up against him like this, Christian smells like blood.   
  
They get inside, but it's slow going and Jonny's not sure Christian's not going to pass out every other step. He waves off the first person who approaches them and asks for the doctor he knows.  
  
Christian still doesn't look up. He keeps his gaze focused on the floor two feet ahead of them. He doesn't respond to Jonny's voice, doesn't look around to see where he is, or who Jonny's talking to.  
  
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	4. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - December 7, late morning, London

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|  December 7, late morning, London | [Dec. 7th, 2005| **10:40 am** ]  
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True to his word, Jonny guides Christian into a waiting room. He helps him sit in a chair, and then draws the curtain to divide the room in half, staying where Christian can see his feet under the bottom edge of the fabric.  
  
Christian lets himself be moved around. He's still trembling. He sits, clasps his hands in front of him, and hangs his head.  
  
A dark man of about forty comes in and pauses in the outer room. He exchanges some quiet words with Jonny, then nods and enters past the curtain. He nods to Christian and says, "I'm Dr. John Cressy," his voice even and his face professionally neutral. "You've been assaulted, is that correct?"  
  
  
Christian doesn't look up. His nod is barely a movement at all. He doesn't say a word.  
  
Dr. Cressy nods once more. "I know this is difficult and that you'd probably much rather be at home right now. I'm going to take care of you and do my best to make you more comfortable and minimize any possible consequences. Some procedures will be uncomfortable, but I'll be as careful as I can, and I'll get through it all as quickly as I can." He moves over to a cabinet and starts assembling supplies.  
  
There's no response. Christian blinks slowly, shifts his eyes to make sure he can still see Jonny's feet underneath the curtain, makes sure he's not alone with this strange man.  
  
The doctor sets a variety of items down on a rolling tray, then helps Christian off with his clothing as gently as possible, then gets him into a gown and settled up on the padded table. "Let's take care of that arm first; I'm sure it's quite painful."  
  
Christian allows the doctor to manipulate his limbs, not taking any action to help on his own. He barely looks at the stranger, and avoids making anything close to eye contact.  
  
It doesn't look like anything's broken, but examination of the shoulder shows that it's out of its socket. Dr. Cressy says, “I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt for just a moment.” He rotates the arm to the correct position, gets a firm grip on both the arm and the shoulder, and gives it a hard, sharp yank.  
  
Christian lurches forward with a hiss of indrawn breath. He makes a high-pitched keening sound as he exhales, but other than that, he's silent.  
  
"Easy, that's it. It went in just fine. You'll need to keep it in a sling for a few days, and then ease back into using it." He arranges Christian's arm in the sling, then helps him lie down. "Now, I need you to put your heels in the stirrups. It's more comfortable than just holding your legs up. I'm going to see how much anal damage there is, put in some sutures if needed, and collect samples for a rape kit. We'll keep it for thirty days if you decide you want to report this to the police. It's your choice, though, and if you decide not to, we won't report it either. Then I'll give you some tests for sexually transmitted diseases and some prophylactic treatments, just in case."  
  
He turns his head toward the wall, and screws his eyes closed. Christian starts to cry silently, the humiliation and fear overwhelming as he lifts first one foot, then the other.   
  
Dr. Cressy sits on a stool between Christian's legs and goes about his work. While carrying out the examination, he asks, "Can you tell me what happened?"  
  
Christian shakes his head. "I don't know," he whispers, trying to hold back his tears. "I don't know."  
  
"That's all right," the doctor says in a calm, reassuring voice. "Had you been drinking? Might you have been drugged?"   
  
He's seen worse, but it'll need some repair. He applies a topical anesthetic, then, while it's taking effect, he begins taking samples for the rape kit.  
  
Christian swallows. "M-maybe." He clenches his hands in the table's paper covering. "Single rum and coke, then a double. That's all."  
  
"Well, that's not generally enough to cause memory loss. I'll take a blood sample when I'm done here and we'll find out if you were given anything." A few more moments of silence, then, "There's some semen here, but not enough for an entire ejaculation. It looks like your assailant used a condom, but it ruptured. We'll do tests for STDs, and I'll give you some prophylactic treatment for HIV and hepatitis, just in case."  
  
"Jesus," he sobs, and pulls his left arm across to cover his face. "Oh, fuck." Jack’s face flits through his mind. How could he tell him? _What_ would he tell him? They were just starting out, and he had fucked everything up.  
  
The doctor doesn't respond, because really, what do you say? He's not going to tell him it's going to be all right, because he can't guarantee that. Instead he finishes taking samples for the rape kit, then opens the suture kit. He repairs the worst of the tearing, using the kind of sutures that absorb into the tissue over time.  
  
Christian tries to hold still, but it's so hard. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want some stranger touching him at all, let alone _there._  
  
"I see you've had this procedure before," Dr. Cressy says. "Have you been assaulted before?" That would be a stupid and insensitive question in most cases, but Mr. Bale works with Jonny and it's quite possible that something consensual simply got out of hand. It would be disturbing if it got out of hand to the point of needing sutures, though, and on more than one occasion; one set of scars is clearly older than the other.  
  
He swallows twice before he can answer. "Yes, and no," he whispers, his voice growing fainter on the third word.  
  
"One yes and one no?" the doctor asks. "Or were they violent but not legally assault?"  
  
"Not..." He rubs his eyes hard as he tries not to hyperventilate. "Not legally..." He can't finish saying it, so he hopes the doctor understands when he shakes his head.   
  
The doctor nods his understanding. This is beyond what's normal even in the world of kink -- Dr. Cressy often comes out of a scene with welts on his back and arse, and occasionally they're deep enough to bleed a bit, but what the back can take and what the anus and rectum can take without permanent damage are very different things. "I understand the impulse," he says calmly, "the desire for rough intercourse and pain. I scene myself and I'm primarily a bottom. But you need to know that if the penetration is rough enough to cause damage needing sutures, you're building up scar tissue. As more accumulates, the tissue will begin to lose elasticity. If you continue long enough, you'll eventually be unable to have even gentle anal intercourse without damage and bleeding, and at some point you'll be unable to control your bowel movements. You need to consider that when you're planning your activities." This goes well beyond the current assault and Dr. Cressy hopes Christian can tone it down when he's scening. Kink is one thing, but he's doing himself permanent damage.  
  
Christian turns his head again toward the wall, but doesn't reply. His legs are shaking with tension. He can’t discuss it, can’t think about things that happened before he came to Citadel.  
  
Dr. Cressy didn't really expect a response. Mr. Bale is clearly in shock and not up to much discussion, but he hopes he'll get some assistance once he's recovered from this.   
  
He helps Mr. Bale get out of the stirrups and move back up on the table so he can stretch his legs out, and begins working on the lesser injuries. His wrists are badly abraded, and while cleaning one he comments, "It looks like you were in handcuffs. This narrow pattern of harsh damage wasn't done by leather or a cord, and nothing like a chain. They were far too tight as well."  
  
He swallows, unable to hide behind his hands anymore. He tries to focus on the doctor's chest. "I d-don't remember," he stutters, and he doesn’t, but after saying it so many times it feels like a lie. How could he not remember?  
  
"I know you don't. That's all right." Dr. Cressy finishes cleaning the wrist, applies an antibiotic ointment and wraps it in soft bandages, then moves around and does the same to the other one. There are various minor scrapes, which he cleans but leaves unbandaged, and bruises which will have to heal on their own. Mr. Bale's lower lip is split and swollen; that too will have to heal without assistance. "We're almost done. I'm going to take a blood sample to send for testing, then give you an injection -- immunoglobulins as a hepatitis B prophylaxis, and something for the worst of the pain. I'll write you prescriptions for antibiotics, an HIV prophylaxis, and an analgesic." While speaking, he prepares a syringe and takes the blood sample, then gives him two more shots as promised.  
  
Christian closes his eyes and nods. He doesn't want to think about getting the script filled, doesn't want to think about walking into a pharmacy. Doesn't want to think about leaving this room, ever. Doesn’t want to think.   
  
"There, we're all done now so relax as well as you can. We'll need to keep your clothes with the rape kit, but I'll find you something to wear out, and get you the prescriptions. I'll be back in just a few moments." Dr. Cressy nods, then walks quietly out.  
  
He turns his head slowly after the doctor leaves. He can still see Jonny's feet below the edge of the curtain. Jonny knows, a little voice inside his mind screams. He knew already, he replies mentally, too exhausted to care.  
  
When Dr. Cressy comes back, he's carrying a pile of folded clothing -- a pair of trousers and a warm, long-sleeved shirt that should fit well enough. Cressy keeps an extra pair of shoes in his locker in case things get messy, and he's brought them for Mr. Bale; they look about the right size, or maybe a little big, which is better than a little small. There's no underwear, but the clothes just have to get him home and then he can change into his own things. "Here," he says. "You can get dressed now." He puts the clothes down on the stool by the examining table, then turns away to write out the prescriptions, giving his patient a little privacy.  
  
Christian shakily pulls himself upright. He winces as his body complains, and carefully lowers his feet to the floor. It's cold, so he tries to hurry as best he can while getting dressed. He slips his feet into the shoes without untying them; they're big, but they'll do. He's pushes his left arm out through the sleeve of the shirt, leaving the right one and the sling hidden underneath the soft cloth.  
  
He shuffles back to the chair he started in, and gingerly takes a seat.  
  
Dr. Cressy tears the prescription form and turns to Mr. Bale. "You can take the codeine as needed. The shot I gave you will be kicking in any time now and should get you through the night, but starting tomorrow take two of the codeine whenever you feel you need to, up to four times in a twenty-four hour period. The other two, however, you need to take as directed until they're gone. That's very important. You might feel better while you still have pills left, but you need to continue taking them anyway. Do you understand?"  
  
Christian nods, still not meeting the doctor's eyes. "I understand," he whispers.  
  
“You’ll also need to get an HIV test in six weeks, and then again in six months.”  
  
His head bobs absently. HIV test. The words echo through his mind, growing louder and louder until he can’t even hear himself breathe.  
  
"Good." Dr. Cressy nods and hands Christian the prescription form, then reaches into his coat pocket and gets out a business card. He hands that over as well, saying, "Here, take this too. Rebecca is an excellent therapist and is accustomed to working with Citadel members. She understands the lifestyle and won't try to convince you that you're wrong or sick for being into kink. You _have_ been through an incredibly traumatic experience, though, and it's not over yet. Having someone to talk to will be of great benefit and I strongly suggest you make an appointment with her soon."  
  
He reaches out to take the form, and after a moment, he takes the card too. He can't think of what to say - Is it rude not to thank the man who just put stitches in your ass? he wonders - so he stands up, tucks the papers into his pocket, and starts to walk carefully toward the door.  
  
Dr. Cressy just watches him go. "Goodbye, Mr. Bale. Take care."  
  
He waves a hand weakly, but doesn't turn around.  
  
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	5. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - December 8, 11:53pm, London

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|  December 8, 11:53pm, London | [Dec. 8th, 2005| **11:53 pm** ]  
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Christian calls Jack Thursday night.  
  
"Hello, Jack?"   
  
"Christian, is that you? How are you?" He settles into the chair. "So sorry about all this delay, but I should be back in London soon."  
  
There's a soft sigh on the other end of the phone.   
  
  
  
"Jack... we need to talk."  
  
Those words are never good. "About what?" Jack asks, keeping his tone neutral.  
  
The line is silent for a moment. "Something.. happened... earlier this week."  
  
"Something happened? To you?" Jack is puzzled, and not sure how to take this. "Are you hurt? Sick?"  
  
Christian starts to pace, back and forth, back and forth through his living room. He runs a hand through his hair. "Uh.. yeah.. and.. yes, maybe.. to both."  
  
"Okay, I'm really starting to panic here. Want to tell me so I don't imagine the worst?" Jack's talking as calmly as he can manage, he can hear that Christian's not exactly still.  
  
"I... ah... " He stops, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Do you have a fax number?"  
  
"Yes," Jack gives it to Christian. "It's on right now." He's not sure if he should ask to be prepared or not.   
  
"Thanks." He walks to his computer, and turns on the combination printer/scanner/fax machine. "Are you near it? This isn't... something I want getting around."  
  
"Yes, it's here in the lounge. No one will see it before I do. Everyone else is asleep or elsewhere," Jack assures him.  
  
Christian nods to himself. "Good." He picks a large white envelope up off the desk, and pulls two densely printed sheets from it. "I'm sending it through now. If... if you need any of the terms explained, just let me know."  
  
He faxes through a copy of his medical report from Wednesday morning's hospital visit.  
  
"Okay, I will," Jack says, and he hears the machine start up almost immediately. "Just a moment, I'll stand over it - just to be sure." He lets the papers all come out before he looks, but he's not at all surprised that it's a medical report.  
  
"Okay, got it," he says, picking the phone up again. He starts to read.  
  
As soon as the second page is sent, Christian slips the pages back into the envelope. He looks at the other two pages inside, heart racing. He had typed up a contract late last night, or maybe early this morning, too agitated to sleep. Funny, he thought, after he had finished typing it up he had been able to sleep just fine.   
  
As he waits to give Jack a chance to read the file, he sits in his computer chair, then stands up again. He walks to the kitchen, opens the refrigerator door, closes it again. "Say something," he whispers into the phone.  
  
"Fuck," Jack says, not really able to find anything else to say. "That's... Christian..." He wishes he was there. "I want to be there with you right now."  
  
His eyes close as he leans back against the counter, and slowly slides down until he's sitting on the floor, knees tucked up against his chest. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Jack." His voice is soft, hesitant.  
  
"I... I need some time off." Christian chuckles, and rubs his eyes. "I bet management never though I'd say those words..."  
  
"I think time off might be a good idea," Jack says, still processing. "We didn't make any promises, Christian. Did you... was this..." he hesitates. "Did you start off choosing to do this?"  
  
His thumbnail is between his lips before he realises it, and he yanks it out. He will not start biting his nails. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, I did." He covers his eyes with his free hand, waiting to hear if their relationship is over before it even began.  
  
"It's... well, it's not okay, obviously. But as far as..." Jack hesitates. "We didn't make any promises," he repeats. "I'm not angry about that. I'm not angry at all. I'm..." he doesn't know if he should say this. "I'm scared for you."  
  
Christian exhales shakily. "Me too." He leans sideways, and curls up on the floor, his good arm folded up as a makeshift pillow. "I... I'm sorry, Jack."  
  
"I know," Jack murmurs, voice low. "We'll get through this. I don't know how right this moment, but we will."  
  
The white envelope on his desk flashes through his mind. "I need... to know what you want from me. From us," he corrects. "Do you want... an us, or did you just... hear I was entertaining?"   
  
It occurs to him as the words leave his mouth how poorly he worded his question. "I mean... Are you just looking for something physical when you're in town... or something else?"  
  
Jack sits back, and figures that now is as good a time as any to say this. "I want an _us_. That was a part of what I did in the States. I'll tell you more when we're face to face, but that's one thing I know. I want.... this. Whatever it turns out to be. I'm free to figure that out now."  
  
Christian grins briefly. "Okay. Good. Good. I want... an _us_.” It surprises him, after pushing everyone else away for years, that he does want something stable, with someone not-Faith. “I just..." Here we go again, he thinks, into the deep end. "I need to get my head on straight again, Jack, I need... to get through this."  
  
"I know," Jack replies. "I won't push. I won't rush you into anything. You need time and space." He smiles into the phone. "But if you need someone to talk to..."  
  
He takes a deep breath, and lets it go slowly. "I have someone... to talk to. The person who sponsored me into Citadel... I'm going to get in touch with him. He's... what I need right now."  
  
"That makes sense," Jack nods, forgetting Christian can't see him. "Would it be okay if I call when I get back..." He wants to say 'home' but senses that isn't a good idea right now. "It won't be until the weekend at least." He sighs. "Now I remember why I liked it better when I wasn't a peer."  
  
Christian rolls to his feet, and stands up. "Please. I want to see you. I just... need the structure he can give me." He pours himself a glass of water. "I haven't spoken to him yet about it, so it might all go belly up, but I wanted you to know before I did anything."  
  
"I want to see you too. I want to know that you're here, even though I know you are," Jack says quietly. "I want to be able to hear you talk and see your lips move. And you do anything you need to, Christian. As long as it's safe."  
  
He nods. "It will be. He's very safe."   
  
"That's good," Jack says.  
  
He takes a sip of water, and sets it on the counter because his hand is trembling, and the last thing he feels like doing is picking broken glass out of the soles of his feet. "Are you busy Friday night?"  
  
Jack thinks. "I shouldn't be, no. Hang on, that's tomorrow, right?" He checks. "Yeah. I should be able to fly back tomorrow sometime."  
  
"I'm going to go to the Club, clean out my office... give the keys to Miller."  
  
"Would you like me to be there?" Jack pours a Scotch one-handed and takes a sip.  
  
"Please." He hates saying that word. Even though he knows Jack won't see it as a weakness, it feels weak, especially now.  
  
"I'll make sure I'm there," Jack goes over things in his mind. "I have to do some last-minute stuff in the morning but god willing that'll be all. I'll get an afternoon flight if I have to hire the plane myself, and meet you...where?"  
  
"At the Club?" He trusts Jack. He does. He knows he can, but the idea of Jack coming to his home gives him chills.  
  
"Okay." He's wishing he could call up the plane now.  
  
"Sound feasible?"  
  
"Sounds excellent. If I have to move the damn mountains myself, I'll be there," Jack promises. "I won't let you do this alone."  
  
Jonny had said that too, right before they went into the hospital. Christian's head swims, and he gropes blindly for a chair, hoping he finds it before he ends up on his ass on the floor. He thumps down onto it, and tucks his head between his knees, takes a deep breath. "Thanks, Jack." God only knows how he sounds, but he doesn't care right now.  
  
"It's okay," Jack says, wondering what Christian is doing right now. "It's okay and it will be okay."  
  
He takes a deep breath and holds it. He will not hyperventilate. Not while he's on the phone.   
  
"I'll be here for you," Jack says, calmly, hoping like hell this is what Christian needs.  
  
 _Have to speak,_ he thinks, _can't be rude._ He leans back slowly. "Thanks," he whispers.  
  
"I've got a bit to tell you about, too," Jack says. "Not as... difficult as yours, though. But I'd really prefer to keep it until we're in the same room. It's... about how I figured out about us..."  
  
Christian blinks. What? He shakes his head. "Sure. We'll discuss it when you get here. And... I'd like to apologize now if I seem... out of sorts."  
  
"Yes," Jack says. "Now, is there anything else you need to tell me about? I'm here. Apology accepted, in advance," Jack adds.  
  
"No. I need to get some sleep."   
  
"It is late," Jack says. "And the earlier the start I get tomorrow, the earlier I can be back in England."  
  
"Well.... I'll see you then."  
  
"See you tomorrow, Christian," is all Jack can think of to say. "Sleep well."  
  
"You too, Jack. Thanks," he says softly.  
  
"Goodnight," Jack says, not wanting to be the one to hang up.  
  
Christian takes a deep breath, and hits the end button. He walks to the bedroom, grabs a blanket, and curls up at the foot of the bed. It'll take hours for him to get to sleep, but at least he'll see Jack tomorrow.  
  
Jack hangs up the phone and pours another measure of Scotch, surprised to notice the one he'd poured was gone. He looks out the window at the blinking stars and his shoulders fall as he tries very hard not to cry.  
  
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	6. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - December 9, late evening, London

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|  December 9, late evening, London | [Dec. 9th, 2005| **09:10 pm** ]  
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Christian sits in his car, waiting. Even with the doors all locked, he feels uncomfortable, exposed, and he wishes Jack would just hurry the fuck up.  
  
Jack curses as he drives, right on the limit, because the traffic was a lot thicker than it should have been on a Friday night. He's a block from the club when he slows a little and he pulls up beside Christian's car. Getting out, he walks over and knocks on the window. "Christian."  
  
His heart is in his throat, pulse racing, and it's all Christian can do to maintain his facade as he turns his head. He nods when he sees Jack.   
  
"Want to open the door?" Jack is almost shouting. "Bit cold out here."  
  
  
  
He nods again, but it still takes him a minute to gather the courage to unlock the passenger door.  
  
The car is warm inside. Christian nods to the seatbelt. "I'll have a box or two of personal things to take out of the Club. I'll drive us over."  
  
"Okay," Jack fastens the seatbelt. He takes in Christian. "You..." he falters. "You look..." He stops. "Let me try that again. You look the same. And it's good to see you," he says. He reaches for Christian's hand, but slowly, not wanting him to be frightened.  
  
Christian freezes as Jack's hand moves toward his.  
  
Seeing it, Jack moves his hand back as casually as he can. "Whenever you're ready," he says, meaning both that he can start the car and that he won't do anything else.  
  
Christian's jaw clenches and unclenches, clenches and unclenches. He nods once, lips pressed together in a thin line. Once they're in traffic, he seems to calm a bit.   
  
Jack is trying to think of something to say. "It's getting colder," he says, lamely bringing up the weather.  
  
Christian's head bobs twice. "Yeah," he says quietly. He licks his lips. "So. You wanted to tell me how you knew about us." His tone seems formal, given the topic.  
  
It honestly takes him a moment to remember that part of their conversation last night. "Yeah..." He glances over out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"I was in the States," Jack starts. "And I had dinner with someone I am very close to. She..." he falters a little, memories flooding his mind. "We've known each other a long time. And if things were different..." he doesn't know if he should even say this. "But they aren't. So I told her, about us. About how things between her and I couldn't happen, even though we already knew this. Because you are in my life."  
  
Christian's expression goes blank. He turns his head to look at Jack, and in the dim light of the streetlamps and traffic, Jack can see that the guarded mask that Christian always seems to have up is gone.  
  
"Christian..." Jack says quietly.  
  
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He blinks a few times, then seems to remember that he's driving. "I..." Words fail him; Jack wants him. Wants him enough to make sure that other people, strangers to Christian, know he's off the market.  
  
"Yes," Jack says. "I admit, it was only partly you, it was also knowing it was time, but I had to tell her. She needs the chance to move on too..." Jack sighs. "It's a very long story."  
  
"I hope I live up to the hype," he says at last. It sounds like something he'd tell George, and he might have actually said that to him, after they'd won the Batman movie.  
  
"If I didn't think you would, I wouldn't have done it," is all Jack can say to that. "I knew it was right. That's all I can say."  
  
He absently flicks the blinker on before turning into the Club parking lot. He's done this so many times, he could drive to the Club in his sleep. He pulls into his usual space, and turns off the ignition.  
  
Jack unfastens his belt, but he doesn't do anything else right away. He doesn't know what happens next but he thinks Christian should be the one to say or indicate what that is.  
  
He carefully removes his seatbelt, and unzips his jacket. Underneath, a sling is folded neatly against his chest. He frowns, closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at Jack.  
  
"Could you give me a hand getting this on?" He nods toward his right shoulder.  
  
"Of course," Jack says. "Would it maybe be easier if we got out first?"  
  
He nods. "Probably." He smiles a little, tentative smile, but at least it's a smile.  
  
He has to smile back. "I'm here," he says. "We're here. It's okay."  
  
He nods, and tilts his head toward the back seat. "Could you grab that for me too?" he asks, gesturing toward a white manilla envelope.  
  
"Sure," Jack says, reaching over for it easily and putting it on the seat between them. "If I leave it here will you be able to get it?" he asks.  
  
"I have to take it into the Club. Might as well just bring it with you."  
  
"Okay," Jack says. He stands up. "Guess we should get out, then."  
  
He climbs out of the car, and once Jack is out, locks the doors. He gingerly slides his jacket off, and pulls at the sling with his left hand.  
  
"I'm supposed to keep it on all the time," he admits to Jack as he walks around to the front of the car, "but it's a pain in the ass to drive with."  
  
"Let me get that," Jack says, putting the envelope on the roof of the car. He moves close to Christian. "I can see it would be, but it's not a good idea." He hesitates. "Could I hire you a driver?"  
  
He gives Jack an odd look and shakes his head. "It'll be off in a few days anyhow." He helps move the fabric so it cradles his arm against his chest, always careful not to let Jack's fingers touch the bare skin of his hand.  
  
"Okay," Jack notices that Christian doesn't touch him, but he doesn't say anything about it. He moves up to Christian's shoulder to tie the knot. "Lucky I was in the Scouts," he half-smiles. "No way this'll come off until you want it to."  
  
"Good. And thank you." He picks the envelope up. "Have to hand in the forms for my leave of absence, and I have to look something up," he explains, waving the papers a bit as he walks toward the back door.  
  
Jack nods. He wonders what Christian wants to look up, but just follows him. He figures if he can't be somewhere, Christian will let him know.  
  
He unlocks the door marked "Staff Only", and walks inside. "Need to look for Jonny too, see if he's around so I can give him the keys."  
  
"Okay," Jack says. "I'm anywhere you want me to be," he says, looking into Christian's eyes. "Just let me know."  
  
Christian nods. "Could you check just inside that door, see if there are any flat boxes against the wall?" he asks. He turns and unlocks the door beside the one he pointed Jack toward.  
  
Jack does, and finds a few, coming out with them in his hands. "Here," he says.  
  
He waves his hand to usher Jack into the office ahead of him. "Home. Or close to it," he smiles.  
  
"Looks... comfortable," Jack says, and smiles back. "I was hoping to see it under different circumstances..." he doesn't elaborate, as his fantasies of the past are probably not what they should talk about right now.  
  
Christian ignores the thinly veiled suggestion. He would never have considered it, playing in his office, but he won't tell Jack, not now. There's no point. He won't be here much longer. His job will be waiting for him, he knows that, regardless of how long it takes, but even when he eventually comes back... This is work, and work and play don't mix.  
  
"Is there anything I can put in that won't foul up your system?" Jack asks, wanting something to do.  
  
Christian tucks the envelope under the edge of his sling, and pulls a single sheet of paper out. He lays it face down on the center of the desk. "Could you just put the boxes over there?" he asks as he steps back toward the door.  
  
"No problem," Jack responds. He opens them up and fixes the tabs, though.  
  
"Thanks." He tosses the envelope onto the desk, and then waits in the hall for Jack, and closes the door behind them.   
  
Christian leads the way toward the bar area. "You've been here before, right?" he asks, carefully sidestepping another staff member. The care he takes not to be touched, by anyone, speaks more clearly of his state of mind than he's been willing to verbalize.  
  
"Yes," Jack says, softly, watching Christian. He's avoiding contact, not surprising, but... Jack swallows the lump in his throat.  
  
He nods. "I doubt much has changed." He turns a little to smile at Jack, but like all the smiles before it, it's just a little too strained.  
  
"I'm sure it hasn't," Jack says, trying to smile back. "Well, unless they redecorated."  
  
  
  
[London Bar Chat, Dec 9th](http://www.journalfen.net/community/citadel/10188.html#cutid1)  
  
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	7. Chapter 7

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|  | Karl Urban ([](http://www.journalfen.net/users/karlurban/profile)[ **karlurban**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/karlurban/) ) wrote in [](http://www.journalfen.net/community/citadel/profile)[**citadel**](http://www.journalfen.net/community/citadel/) ,  
@ [2005](http://www.journalfen.net/community/citadel/2005/)-[12](http://www.journalfen.net/community/citadel/2005/12/)-[10](http://www.journalfen.net/community/citadel/2005/12/10/) 13:24:00   
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_**London Bar Chat: Friday, December 9th**_  
 **players only**  
  
 _Christian Bale, Jack Davenport, Vin Diesel, Liam Neeson, Stuart Townsend and Yorgi_  
  
  
  
 **Stuart:** *Stuart's sitting at the bar, talking quietly with the bartender in between sips of water. He's wearing low slung jeans, ripped "artistically" until they're more hole than fabric, the heel of one scuffed combat boot caught on the rung of his stool*   
  
**Vin:** *Vin strolls into the bar, Yorgi perched on his shoulder* ...and behave yourself. I've got permission to bring you down but if you bite anyone or shit on anything your next stop is the restaurant kitchen, right?  
  
 **Yorgi:** *tilts head, makes kissing noise*  
  
 **Stuart:** *quiet conversation with the bartender comes to a rather abrupt stop, and Stuart's abandoned in favor of an actual paying member.... with a bird.....* Now there's something you don't see every day.   
  
**Yorgi:** *steps down onto the bar top. Trots a short way along toward people.* "Hello. Hello. Lovely weather! Got a nut?"  
  
 **Stuart:** *arches an eyebrow, watching the bird* Two of 'em, actually, but I'm not giving them to you.   
  
**Vin:** Don't mind him. He's slightly obsessed.  
  
 **Stuart:** Uh huh. *nods, smirking* With nuts and biting my friend's ear.   
  
**Vin:** Ah, yeah. But only when he's thwarted. He's potty trained and wanted to go, I think. *holds out hand* I'm Vin. That... *points to Yorgi playing with bar runner* ...is Yorgi.  
  
 **Stuart:** And with quite the vocabulary, from what one of the maids said. *grins, reaching to shake Vin's hand* Stuart. A pleasure to meet you, Sir. And you, Yorgi.   
  
**Yorgi:** *hops over in front of Stuart. Lifts claw* Pleased ta meetcha. *tips head* Pretty boy. Wanna fuck?  
  
 **Vin:** *groans* Sailor's parrot. Foul-mouthed and proud of it.  
  
 **Stuart:** *shaking..... hands with a parrot is new, but he does it. Then nearly falls off his stool laughing* Well, hell. I've never done it with a parrot, but if that's your thing, Sir....   
  
**Yorgi:** *moves closer, eyeing Stuart.* Naked. Nude. Unclad. *wolfwhistles*  
  
 **Vin:** *grins and laughs* But they have good taste.  
  
 **Stuart:** Christ, I'm being propositioned by a bird. *he's still laughing* That sounded suspiciously like an order to me.   
  
**Vin:** *finishes ordering drink and takes stool next to Stuart* He makes the strangest associations at times. But he's smart. May I? *points at Stuart's hair* Yorgi? What color?  
  
 **Yorgi:** *peers at Stuart* Black. Pretty. Soft.  
  
 **Stuart:** Oh, and free with his compliments. *grins* Though... Henry said he got compliments on his hair just before getting bitten. Should I run now?   
  
**Vin:** Nope. I got reinforcements coming. *Chad sets a narrow glass with nuts in it on the bar. Vin fishes one out and holds it up for Yorgi* What do you say?  
  
 **Yorgi:** *immediately* I love you, I love you, said the little blue man! Moon River!   
  
**Vin:** *sighs*  
  
 **Yorgi:** Please?  
  
 **Vin:** *hands him the nut*  
  
 **Stuart:** *manages to keep his amusement down to a quick snicker* Now _that_ is cool. Where can I get one?   
  
**Vin:** *shakes his head* Trust me. You don't want one. Yorgi's an African Gray, they have all the intelligence and all the propensity for mischief of a three year old child. I got him by default. My old landlady left him to me.  
  
 **Stuart:** Yeah, but he's adorable. *watches Yorgi a moment before turning to eye Vin* And you're... very large.   
  
**Vin:** Why...thank you. I think. *winks*  
  
 **Yorgi:** *bounces up and down on the spot* Bigger they are the harder they fuck.  
  
 **Stuart:** *grins at Yorgi* That's my sincere hope, my feathered friend.   
  
**Vin:** *hands him another nut*  
  
 **Liam:** Liam wanders in and looks around. He doesn't see anyone he knows, so he settles down at a table, orders a pint of dark, then pulls out his laptop.  
  
 **Yorgi:** *finishes his nut and flaps his wings, sails up to land on Stuart's head*  
  
 **Vin:** *looks Stuart up and down* Nothing I'd like better than to fulfill your hopes there, Stuart. Not in front of Yorgi, though. His commentaries tend to...kill the mood. *grins* We could hook up later though?  
  
 **Stuart:** *unused to having a bird perched on his head, Stuart holds himself carefully still* He makes good advertisement for you, though. Any time you like, Sir, I can make sure I'm available for you.   
  
**Vin:** I'll fix it with the front desk then. We can lock Yorgi in the bathroom or something.  
  
 **Yorgi:** *is bored* There once was a man from Alsass Who had balls made out of brass...*mutters*  
  
 **Stuart:** Poor Yorgi. *sighs dramatically* Stuck in the bathroom with nothing but his imagination and...... *blinks* And apparently it's a good imagination.   
  
**Vin:** And a two thousand word vocabulary. 99% of it filthy limericks. I'm buying the next round. What would you like?  
  
 **Yorgi:** *flutters on the spot. Takes off across the room, landing neatly on the laptop monitor.* ...And lightning shot out of his ass!  
  
 **Stuart:** *smothers a laugh, turning to watch Yorgi a moment* Just water for me, thank you, Sir.   
  
**Liam:** Liam looks up, startled, as a large bird suddenly lands on his laptop and squawks out what sounds like the last line of a dirty limerick. "All right, that's enough of that." He holds up his hand next to the bird's feet and says, "Come on, off of there."  
  
 **Yorgi:** *tips head* Step up.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam says, "That's right, step up. Come on, be a good bird and I'll find you a peanut or something."  
  
 **Yorgi:** *steps onto Liam's hand.* Want a nut?  
  
 **Vin:** *turns to make sure Yorgi is behaving* Glass of water and a scotch with none. *orders from Chad*  
  
 **Liam:** "Good bird." Liam stands up and wanders over toward the bar. He spots a bowl of nuts and feeds one to Yorgi.  
  
 **Stuart:** *chuckles* At least you'll never have problems making friends.   
  
**Vin:** If he's being a bother....?  
  
 **Liam:** "Is he yours?" Liam raises an eyebrow at Vin. "No, actually. He refrained from soiling my computer, which I suppose makes him a good bird." He scratches Yorgi's back with one finger.  
  
 **Yorgi:** Good boy. Good boy. *purrs like a cat*  
  
 **Vin:** I admit to ownership. He won't soil without telling you first.  
  
 **Yorgi:** *glances sideways at Stuart. wolfwhistles*  
  
 **Stuart:** And if he tells you, act quickly or he'll bite. *nods, blows a kiss to Yorgi*   
  
**Liam:** Liam chuckles and feeds Yorgi another nut. "That's right, good boy." He looks up at Vin and says, "Is that usual for birds? I always thought they were fairly lacking in discrimination about that sort of thing."  
  
 **Vin:** His original owner taught him. Beyond that, I don't have a clue.  
  
 **Yorgi:** *growls at Stuart*  
  
 **Liam:** "I see. It'll have to remain a mystery, then." Liam looks up and offers the hand Yorgi's not perched on. "Liam."  
  
 **Vin:** Vin. *points* Yorgi. Who is more popular than me. *grins*  
  
 **Stuart:** *grins, pushing away from the bar to strike a pose for Yorgi*   
  
**Liam:** "I've known people with dogs who had the same complaint. It's not any lack in you, rather, it's an excess of enthusiasm in animal lovers." Liam gives Vin a lopsided smile.  
  
 **Yorgi:** *hops off Liam's hand, marches along bar toward Stuart, head cocked.* Near, far, wherever you are....*sings*  
  
 **Vin:** *glances sideways at Stuart. grins* He's serenading you.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam watches Yorgi and Stuart, then gives Stuart a once-over. Not bad at all.  
  
 **Stuart:** *laughs, shaking his head* First he demands I get naked, then he asks if I want to fuck, now he's serenading me? This could be true love. *winks at Liam*   
  
**Liam:** Liam grins back. "I suggest you make sure of his intentions first. He strikes me as a fickle sort."  
  
 **Yorgi:** *stops in front of Stuart* My heart will go on....*sings*  
  
 **Stuart:** Shh. I'm supposed to listen like a lovestruck fool. I saw it in a movie once. *sighs and bats his eyelashes at Yorgi*   
  
**Vin:** *shakes his head sadly* You're doomed, mate. He's got a real hard-on for you now.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam chuckles and heads back to his table. He picks up his beer and takes it back to the bar.  
  
 **Yorgi:** *hops onto Stuarts hand and starts climbing his forearm* Jack and Jill went up the hill, so Jack could lick Jill's fanny...  
  
 **Stuart:** *watches Yorgi warily as the bird gets closer and closer to his ear* I don't think you can afford me, Yorgi.   
  
**Yorgi:** Jack got a shock and a mouthful of cock....  
  
 **Liam:** "If he's expecting a Jill's fanny when he gets to the top," comments Liam, "I think he's going to be disappointed."  
  
 **Vin:** *calmly reaches across and pinches Yorgi's beak shut*  
  
 **Liam:** Liam grins at Vin and asks, "Do that a lot, do you?"  
  
 **Stuart:** *laughs* Looks like a well practiced move to me.   
  
**Yorgi:** Mmmmpphh  
  
 **Liam:** Liam nods to Stuart. "Yes, exactly."  
  
 **Vin:** It's an art form.  
  
 **Stuart:** He's adorable. *strokes a finger over Yorgi's feathers*   
  
**Yorgi:** *pulls head abruptly away from Vin's hand. Leans in close to Stuart, humming*  
  
 **Stuart:** Yes, I called you adorable. I'm horrible and encouraging you, and your human's going to forbid us to see each other.   
  
**Vin:** I think I'd better get him out of here before he starts humping your ear. *collects Yorgi from Stuart's arm, ignoring the squawked protest* I'll settle him and then call the desk, eh? *looks at Stuart*  
  
 **Liam:** "Therefore guaranteeing that you'll run off and elope" observes Liam with a smile. "It's always that way when the parents object."  
  
 **Vin:** *laughs* He's already eloped once today. Don't want to chance it again.  
  
 **Stuart:** *grins* Bye, Yorgi. We'll run off and have a forbidden affair later. *winks at Vin* I look forward to seeing you again, Sir.   
  
**Liam:** "I thought so. Fickle bird." Liam nods and gives Yorgi a last scritch.  
  
 **Vin:** I'll be back down later. *to Yorgi* C'mon brain-fart. Let's leave Stuart for now. You can see him later. *nods to Liam* Good night. *leaves*  
  
 **Stuart:** *grins at Liam* Fortunately, I don't mind fickle.   
  
**Yorgi:** *screeches. flaps wings* Pretty boy! Pretty boy!  
  
 **Stuart:** *poses for Yorgi again*   
  
**Liam:** Liam grins back at Stuart. "No, luckily there are still a few of us who haven't been bitten by the monogamy bug."  
  
 **Stuart:** That's one bug I'm avoiding at all costs, Sir.   
  
**Liam:** "Excellent, lad. Keep it up." Liam raises his mug to Stuart in a toast before taking a pull.  
  
 **Stuart:** *chuckles* And perhaps there's something non-monogamous I can do for you, Sir?   
  
**Liam:** Liam glances at Stuart's wristband and says, "Probably not in the way you're thinking; I'm afraid our tastes are fairly divergent. You can talk to me, though -- I don't get here to the Club often, I'm more a Mansion denizen. Anything interesting been going on lately?"  
  
 **Stuart:** *affects a pout, sighs deeply, and settles on a stool, then grins* The most interesting thing of late is Yorgi.   
  
**Liam:** "I'll admit he'd be hard to top," Liam says with a smile and a glance toward the door.  
  
 **Stuart:** He's one helluva flirt, that's certain.   
  
**Liam:** Liam takes another sip of his beer, then says, "Actually, I do have a question. Do you know Christian? Bale? He's a duty manager here."  
 **Liam:** "I was hoping to run into him, but he doesn't seem to be around. Have you seen him recently?"  
  
 **Stuart:** I do know him, yeah. *frowns faintly, glancing around* He doesn't usually come out here. He might be back in his office, though.   
  
**Liam:** Liam shakes his head. "I went by there on my way in. Maybe he'll wander by later -- I'll stay around a while and see."  
  
 **Stuart:** Huh. *nibbles on his lower lip a moment, then shrugs* He should be around sometime tonight, anyway.   
  
**Liam:** "I hope so. I've been meaning to come round and see him for a while." Liam finishes his beer and sets the empty on the bar.  
  
 **Stuart:** Could always have someone try his home number, I suppose. Or his mobile.   
  
**Liam:** "It's not quite that urgent. More a, haven't seen you in a while and want to touch base, than a, Damn, have to talk to you right away now, sort of thing."  
  
 **Stuart:** *grins* That's still a good reason to call him.   
  
**Liam:** "I might, if he doesn't show later on." Liam glances around and changes the subject. "How are things around the holidays? Does the place slow down? It seems the Mansion does, at least some."  
  
 **Stuart:** Oh, it definitely slows down. *nods and sips his water* Gets to where a boy just doesn't know what to do with himself.   
  
**Liam:** Liam laughs out loud. "If a boy can't figure _that_ one out, I doubt he'd have earned those stripes."  
  
 **Stuart:** *grins, shaking his head* I don't, umm... I save that for my clients.   
  
**Liam:** Liam raises an eyebrow. "Now there's the best reason I've heard yet not to be one of the staff boys."  
  
 **Stuart:** *laughs* It's not required. Just something I choose to do.   
  
**Liam:** "Ahh, that's different then. Inexplicable, but your own choice at least." Liam gives Stuart a teasing smile.  
  
 **Stuart:** *shrugs* There's actually a reason for it. It just... makes it that much better when I'm... entertaining, yeah? Makes me that much more desperate to come.   
  
**Liam:** "That makes a certain amount of sense, I suppose," Liam says, pondering. "Just knowing I couldn't would drive me insane, though. But then, I'm not used to that sort of self-denial."  
  
 **Stuart:** See, that's the beautiful thing. *sits up, almost eager* It's not that I _can't._ And I know that I can change that rule anytime I want to. I love that sort of denial, but even I have my limits. Except I haven't given in yet. And the fact that I haven't is something I can be proud of all on my own.   
  
**Liam:** "Well, that's certainly true. That makes it an achievement." Liam cocks his head curiously and asks, "What's the longest you've gone, if you don't mind my asking?"  
  
 **Stuart:** *thinks about that one, frowning and sipping his water* Almost two months. I think that's... Yeah. That was when I broke my wrist and took time off to recover.   
  
**Liam:** Liam winces. "I'll admit I'm impressed. And I'll wager your first client after that was _very_ happy."  
  
 **Stuart:** *laughs* T'hell with whether the client was happy or not. _I_ was happy!   
  
**Liam:** Liam laughs out loud. "Well, yes, there's that too."  
  
 **Stuart:** That's still one of the top five best orgasms of my life. *grins* Also one of the most painful.   
  
**Liam:** "I'll not even try to imagine. I will say, though, that the only way I'll ever be in that situation is if _both_ my wrists are broken and for some reason I'm in a situation where I can't get any help with the problem."  
  
 **Stuart:** *shrugs, still grinning* It's definitely one of those acquired tastes kind of things.   
  
**Liam:** Liam ponders that he's unlikely to find himself in a situation where he can't get any help with the problem for quite some time, and smiles to himself.  
  
 **Stuart:** So. What do you do that keeps you from visiting the bar on a more regular basis?   
  
**Liam:** "It's not so much that I dislike the bar, or the Club as a whole, but rather that I generally frequent the Mansion. It's a bit quieter, at least in places, so I can work if I want to. I just started there and kept on, you know?"  
  
 **Stuart:** Mm. *nods* I know how that goes. I started here and just kept on. *winks*   
  
**Liam:** "Exactly." Liam smiles back at him.  
  
 **Stuart:** What sort of work do you do?   
  
**Liam:** "I'm a software developer," Liam says, nodding over his shoulder to where his laptop is still sitting on a table a few meters away. "I can work pretty much anywhere -- have laptop, will code." He winks.  
  
 **Stuart:** Seriously? *arches an eyebrow, glancing at the laptop* What kind of software?   
  
**Liam:** "I've done a number of different things. Right now I'm working on a game, but I've done some network utilities, a reporting system for a relational database, an encryption algorithm -- which is where most of my income comes from." Liam pauses to see whether or not Stuart's eyes are glazing over yet.  
  
 **Stuart:** *not quite, but getting close* Okay, most of that went right over my head. Teach me to ask about stuff like that. *chuckles* The game, though. That's something I can talk about. What's the game?   
  
**Liam:** Liam chuckles. "Well, there's no combat, which means it's likely to be a commercial failure, but I'm trying to work out a system where the player would be able to have meaningful conversations with NPCs, something more than choosing a topic from a set list."   
**Liam:** "If I can work that out, then there are a number of things I could do with the engine -- roleplaying or adventure or a mystery. A diplomacy simulation, perhaps. The trick is getting the NPCs to feel real."  
  
 **Stuart:** I like a good hack'n slash game. But I like the ones that make me think, too. The puzzles, or mysteries.... stuff like that. So it might not be a commercial failure.   
  
**Liam:** "One never knows," Liam agrees. "Look at the Sims, for example. Although even there you _can_ cause some fairly gruesome deaths if you work at it."  
  
 **Stuart:** *shakes his head* I never could get into that one. Tried it, kept it going for a day or two, then lost interest.   
  
**Liam:** "Have you tried the new one? They've reworked the intelligence of the Sims so it's not all about bladder maintenance anymore. And there are some fun add-ons already. If you don't like the basic idea, though, then the new one probably won't do it for you either."  
  
 **Stuart:** *chuckles* I do think it was the basic idea. I might have to give it another try, though.   
  
**Liam:** "Do you like any of the other Sim titles? It's become quite a subgenre, since SimCity came out."  
  
 **Stuart:** *shakes his head again, sliding off his stool* Never tried any of the others. But look... it was a real pleasure talking with you. I should get going, though.   
  
**Liam:** "Goodnight. It was nice meeting you." Liam gives Stuart a smile and a casual wave.  
  
 **Stuart:** Come around again sometime. I don't get to just sit and talk a lot. *grins, heading for the back rooms*   
  
***  
  
 **Christian:** "You've been here before, right?" a faint but familiar voice asks from the hallway Stuart disappeared down earlier.  
  
 **Jack:** "Yes," Jack says, softly, watching Christian. He's avoiding contact, not surprising, but... Jack swallows the lump in his throat.  
  
 **Christian:** "I doubt much has changed."  
  
 **Jack:** "I'm sure it hasn't," Jack says, trying to smile back. "Well, unless they redecorated."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian stops short. "Now that you mention it... when were you here last?"  
  
 **Jack:** "When we had lunch and they were..." Jack laughs. "Um. Can I blame the jet lag?"  
  
 **Christian:** Christian thinks for a moment. "We were almost finished." He nods to one of the other staff members as they walk past. The woman slows down, and her eyes widen a fraction as she takes in the bruise on the corner of his jaw, the cut on his lip, and the arm in a sling.  
  
 **Jack:** "I remember you saying that, but we did have to dodge a few ladders," Jack says, taking in the woman's reaction and moving closer to Christian in case she does or says anything.  
  
 **Christian:** She continues on without saying a word. Far be it from her to criticize, given her own tastes. Still, he's not usually so obvious about it. _She thinks._ Christian notices, but remains carefully oblivious to the long look.  
  
 **Jack:** "Where to now?" Jack asks, deliberately loud, wanting the woman to feel uncomfortable.  
  
 **Liam:** The loud voice attracts Liam's attention. He glances up, then does a double-take. Christian... is in bad shape. He suppresses most of his reaction but still doesn't look happy.  
  
 **Christian:** He glances at Jack. "I just need to find Jonny, or another manager." He steps up to the bar. "Could you turn the music down a bit?" he asks the bartender discreetly.  
  
 **Jack:** Jack glances around the room. Not a bad crowd, but no one he recognises. He sees a guy staring at Christian, though. Wonders if he knows him. "Do you know him?" Jack indicates the man watching them.  
  
 **Christian:** He glances around the bar, still half-facing the bartender. "Have you seen -" he begins, when he spots the person Jack refers to. "Liam." Christian stops short. He'd been planning to fax the contract, but this is... He thinks for a moment. Yes, this is better.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam meets Christian's gaze and gives him a nod, then raises an eyebrow. If he wants to come over and talk, he will.  
  
 **Jack:** "I take it you do," Jack says. The name is a good indicator. "Do you want to go and talk to him?" He doesn't invite himself along, he figures Christian will let him know.  
  
 **Christian:** He watches Liam for a moment, the fingers of his unbound left arm curling into a fist. He turns away from Jack and the bar, and walks quickly back down the hall.  
  
 **Jack:** Not sure where to look, Jack asks for a glass of water from the bartender. He takes a sip and it doesn't calm him a bit. He's not sure if he should follow Christian or not.  
  
 **Liam:** Well, that was interesting. Liam leans back a bit and crosses his arms, watching the entrance to the hallway. If he's not back in a few minutes, Liam's going to go looking for him.  
  
 **Christian:** It only takes moment for Christian to return. He's breathing a little heavier than before, and he looks a bit ruffled, like he ran the moment he was around a corner. The white envelope from the car flaps a bit as he stalks over to Liam's table. He walks around to the patron side of the bar, rather than the employee side. Without a word, he puts the package on the bar in front of the taller man.  
  
 **Jack:** Unsure of what he should do, Jack moves closer to the other men. He figures that if Christian doesn't want him there, he'll tell him so.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam looks down at the envelope, then up at Christian. "Should I assume that whatever is in here will at least begin to explain how you got like that, or is that going to be a separate discussion?"  
  
 **Christian:** Even though he's not working tonight, Christian's clothes are professional: black dress pants, polished black shoes, and a black velvet turtleneck that would effeminate on anyone else. "Read it," he replies quietly.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam nods and opens the envelope. He slides the papers out and begins to read. It's obvious at a glance what this is, though, and Christian gets a pointed look before he goes back to scanning the contract.  
  
 **Christian:** There's something uncommonly vulnerable in the way he stands, waiting for Liam's reaction.  
  
 **Liam:** When Liam gets to the part about no sex, one of his questions is answered. He and Christian have never been lovers; their needs aren't terribly compatible and they've been good friends in a pants-on way for years. So Christian obviously wants something else from the contract, and looking at him Liam has a feeling he knows what it is. Next in the packet is a set of medical records; they detail Christian's injuries, including some nasty ones that don't show. This sounds like more than Christian's usual, and he'll have the whole story out of him eventually, but the details can wait. He flips back to the contract and looks up at Christian. "So, what you're wanting is someone to be responsible for you, to take care of you for a while. This isn't going to be a normal contract -- you need a keeper for a time. Am I understanding this correctly?" Liam can be blunt to a fault when required, and this is a situation that requires it.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian looks like he's biting the inside of his lip, but nods silently.  
  
 **Liam:** "All right, then. In that case, we're going to have to make a change -- here." He points to the offending paragraph. "I know your usual preferences, but this is different. If I'm going to be responsible for taking care of you then I'm not going to promise not to take care of you. If you need care of any kind while you're mine, I'll give it. Can you agree to that?"  
  
 **Jack:** What the hell is going on here? Jack has no idea. It looks like Christian's... but why? What the hell? Jack doesn't know what to do right now. Maybe he should leave.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian stares at Liam for a moment, expression bordering on a scowl. His mouth is set in a thin line when he forces out "It says slave would prefer, but leaves it to Master's discretion."  
  
 **Liam:** Liam's expression goes hard. "I'm not going to fight you on this, now or later. You'll promise to accept it gracefully or you can find someone else to look after you."  
  
 **Stuart:** Stuart offers cheerful good nights to the few staff members he passes on his way out. Normally he would have ducked out the back after changing to his street clothes, but he needs to stop by the front desk and see if Vin's made his appointment yet. Backpack slung over one shoulder, he gets about three steps into the main room before pulling up short to stare.   
  
**Christian:** He closes his eyes for a moment, and inhales sharply through his nose. He turns on his heel, walks behind the bar, and snatches up a pen from under the counter. He slaps it on the bartop beside the contract. Every movement is controlled and precise. "Fine."  
  
 **Jack:** "Okay. What the hell is going on here?" Jack asks. He can't keep quiet any longer. "Christian?"  
  
 **Stuart:** First he stares quite blatantly at Christian, brow furrowed as he takes in the visible injuries. But much like the woman from before, he's in no position to judge. So his attention is drawn to the proceedings, and that's only more confusing.   
  
**Christian:** Christian doesn't look at Jack; his concentration is on Liam, and whether or not he has the pen in his hand.   
  
**Liam:** Liam glances at Jack, then shrugs and looks back at Christian. "I said gracefully. Make the change and initial it." Liam slides the contract over to him.  
  
 **Christian:** In all the years he's worked for Citadel, Christian has never even been rumoured to be willing to do this. There has been the odd member who's wished for it, but as far as anyone knows, Christian's never even gone through one of the training programs.  
  
 **Jack:** "Christian, after what you asked me, what we've said, don't you think I have a right to know why you've given this man what looks a hell of a lot like a contract?" Jack's voice is soft but people might be able to hear it.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian looks at the paperwork in front of him, and picks up the pen. As he makes the requested change, he speaks softly. "Liam sponsored me."  
  
 **Stuart:** After working here for seven years, Stuart'd thought he had Christian pretty well pegged. That certainly looks like a contract negotiation to him, though, and apparently the third guy at the bar agrees. _It's none of your business, Stu,_ he tells himself, but can't quite get his feet into motion yet.   
  
**Jack:** "You said you wanted to see him but not..." Jack decides that dammit, he's going to have a drink. "Scotch. Double."  
  
 **Christian:** There's a stillness to Christian that usually only comes to the forefront when dealing with situations most people shy away from: patrons who get out of hand, the occasional serious, non-scene fight. He watches Liam, waiting. The rest of the bar could burn down around him, and it's doubtful he'd notice.  
  
 **Liam:** If Christian's going to ignore the other young man, then Liam will too. One more thing to be dealt with later. He takes the contract back, glances down at the correction, and initials it next to Christian's. Then he flips to the end and signs his name.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian's signature is already there.  
  
 **Stuart:** Several long moments pass before Stuart shakes his head and makes his legs work, hiking the backpack a little higher up on his shoulder. It's not his business, not his place to judge, and certainly no call to stand and stare... not in a place like this. _Happens all the time, stupid._ On his way toward the front desk he does cast one quick, worried glance at Christian, but that guy's so focused on Liam someone could walk up and kick him in the head and he wouldn't notice.   
  
**Liam:** The papers go back into the envelope and Liam stands. "I think we need to go home and discuss this further. Do you need some time with your friend first?" He nods toward Jack.  
  
 **Jack:** "So is anyone going to tell me about this?" Jack asks, draining half his drink. "I'm Jack," he adds, to Liam, even now manners aren't forgotten. "Friend or something of Christian's."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian nods once, and walks back around the bar. "Please, Master," he says quietly, politely, very much in contrast to the expression on his face.  
  
 **Stuart:** Stuart catches that 'Master' bit just as he walks out the door, and a good thing, too, because he audibly chokes in surprise, garnering an odd look from the clerk at the front desk.   
  
**Liam:** Liam nods and offers his hand to Jack. "Liam, as I'm sure you know by now. My apologies, but this is... unexpected." He gives Jack a lopsided smile. "You two do whatever you need to do while I pack up." He strides over to the table where his things are still sitting, slides the envelope into his laptop case, and starts shutting things down, giving Christian and Jack a few moments.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian watches Liam until he turns his back on them. He lowers his head for a moment, then looks at Jack. He's still not quite close enough to touch, but close enough to be able to talk quietly.  
  
 **Jack:** Shaking Liam's hand, Jack smiles back, confused. "Unexpected is a good word, yes." He lets Liam's hand drop and turns to Christian. "Christian?" He says, and almost hates the pleading note in his voice, but dammit, this is confusing as hell for him.  
  
 **Christian:** "I need this, Jack. I need to... sort myself out again." He runs the fingers of his left hand through his hair with a deep breath. "I can't be what you want like this," he gestures at himself.  
  
 **Jack:** "I... know," Jack nods, he figured that part out. "So... you... how...? How does this work?" he asks.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian glances at Liam. "He's going to put me back together." He shrugs with his good shoulder. He watches Jack with the same intensity he had been giving Liam a few moments ago. "I need you to let me do this," he whispers.  
  
 **Jack:** "It's not like I have a choice. I'm willing to do and let you do anything you need to do to find yourself, Christian," Jack says, quietly. "Even if... it isn't with me."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian closes his eyes as he curses under his breath. "This doesn't... " He shakes his head. "This isn't about you."  
  
 **Jack:** "I know," Jack replies. "I know this is about you and what you need. And if you need me... not here for a while? I can do that."  
  
 **Christian:** He takes another step toward Jack, closing the distance between them. "There are things right now that... I don't want you to know. That I don't want you thinking about, and worrying about, and blaming yourself for." Normally there would have been some kind of physical contact by now, but Christian is very carefully not touching Jack. "Liam is... Liam is not going to come between us. Not unless you make him. Do you understand that?"  
  
 **Jack:** "I'm going to worry anyway," Jack says, as lightly as he can manage, which... kind of isn't lightly. "How do you think you being with someone else isn't going to change things?" It's not that he doesn't understand, Christian has known Liam longer. "He's probably better to help you through this, though," Jack says.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian frowns when Jack says "with someone else", and takes a step back. "'With someone else?'" he asks in a low, warning tone.  
  
 **Jack:** "You've signed a contract with him," Jack says. "Isn't that why?" He knows the tone, he hopes this isn't totally the wrong thing to say. "I mean, isn't that generally what a contract means?"  
  
 **Christian:** Christian straightens, and takes another step back. "Not this one," he says quietly. He glances toward Liam to see if he's keeping his new Master waiting.  
  
 **Jack:** "I think maybe you need to tell me exactly what it is about. If I should know, of course," Jack adds the last, though he doesn't want to. "I'm... I don't understand."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian shrugs his left shoulder. "It's not up to me to tell you," he says simply. "Not anymore." He nods toward Liam. "It's up to him now."  
  
 **Jack:** "Then I'll ask him," Jack replies. "And Christian? Whatever all this means... I still want you."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian nods. "Good. Because I still want you too. That's why I'm doing this."  
  
 **Jack:** "I'm not sure I understand but maybe I will soon," Jack says, quietly. "And I know I do understand some of it," he wants to touch Christian. But he doesn't.  
  
 **Christian:** Christian looks at Liam again.  
  
 **Jack:** "Let's go and join him?" Jack says. "Maybe we can talk a little now, even."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian realises at that moment that Jack really has no idea what he's done. Even so, he leads Jack over to Liam. "Master?" he asks respectfully.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam's finished packing up and has been waiting, giving Christian and Jack whatever time they need. When the two of them approach, he looks up. "Yes?"  
  
 **Christian:** "Mr. Davenport has questions he would like to ask you," Christian replies.  
  
 **Liam:** "Certainly," Liam says, nodding to Christian and then turning to Jack with an expectant look.  
  
 **Jack:** Jack feels like he should have said "Lord Huntingdon" for a moment, and this is perhaps the first time he's ever wanted to use the title, not had to. "I'm just very confused about what exactly is happening. I know some of it must stay private, but I would like to know anything that affects me," Jack says, firmly. "I know that you and Christian have signed a contract, and that apparently I have nothing to worry about. But in my experience, all contracts are, well... about sex."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian doesn't quite stand at attention, what with his wounded shoulder and all, but the positioning of his legs, the straightness of his back, the tilt of his head, all speak to a slave's attention.  
  
 **Liam:** Ahh. Yes, that would explain the young man's expression and body language. Liam shakes his head and says, "Christian and I've never had that sort of relationship, and that's not what this is about. He feels he needs someone to take care of him, someone else to be responsible for him for a while. We've been friends for about ten years and I'm already aware of some of his issues, so he wants me to be the person looking after him. That's all." He cocks his head and adds, "Would it help if I mentioned that Christian and I have incompatible kinks? We couldn't really satisfy each other even if we wanted to."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian frowns a little, like he can't hide that he feels a little insulted.  
  
 **Jack:** "That does help," Jack admits. "I feel like it shouldn't, but it really does." He nods. "I think I understand. I couldn't do it, because I'm too close to the situation. You aren't, or at least not the same way." Jack looks at Christian and Liam. "This is about getting Christian past this. I shouldn't have let it be about anything else."  
  
 **Christian:** Christian's gaze doesn't waver from the spot on the wall he's staring at.  
  
 **Liam:** "Believe me, there are complications on my end as well. But Christian's a friend and he needs me -- that comes first. And there's no reason for him to be incommunicado while he's with me; he can call you, you can come over if you like. It'll be up to him unless I see a reason to exercise a veto."  
  
 **Jack:** He hadn't thought of that, that Liam might have problems also. It helps, on some level. "You will be welcome in my home as well," Jack says. "And I thank you, Liam. I don't want to lose... this."  
  
 **Liam:** "There's no reason why you should. I'll do my best to put him back together, then tie a bow around his neck and hand him back." Liam gives Christian a teasing glance.  
  
 **Jack:** "Thank you," Jack says, again, but just as sincerely. "Though I'm not sure about the ribbon..."   
  
**Christian:** Christian keeps his features a carefully schooled neutral.  
  
 **Liam:** "Well, you can let me know your packaging preferences later. Right now, though, I think we should probably be leaving -- unless you have any other questions?" Liam moves over next to Christian and lays an arm around his shoulders, while still looking at Jack.  
  
 **Jack:** "Not right now," Jack says. He hands Liam a card. "My personal numbers. Just in case you or Christian need them. Any of these will reach me without going through anyone else. Call at any time."  
  
 **Christian:** While his expression doesn't change, Christian is trembling like a trapped wild animal under Liam's arm. Every muscle is tense, and his breathing is shallow and quick.  
  
 **Liam:** Liam nods and pockets the card. "Thank you." He shakes hands with Jack once more, then says to Christian, "Come on, lad. Let's go home."  
  
 **Jack:** "I'll call you soon," Jack says to Christian. "In a few days."  
  
 **Christian:** It takes Christian a minute to acknowledge Jack's statement with a slow blink. He's starting to shiver when he mouths his Master's name.  
  
 **Liam:** "It's all right, lad, we're leaving. Come on." His attention fully on Christian now, he guides him out. His last thought as they step into the cold and dark is, How the buggering hell am I going to explain this to Chris...?  
  
 **Christian:** His eyelashes flutter as Christian tries desperately not to let his eyes roll back. He can make it outside. He can. It's Liam, and Liam is his Master, and his Master would never hurt him.

  


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	8. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - December 10, morning, London - Citadel Mews

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|  December 10, morning, London - Citadel Mews | [Dec. 10th, 2005| **08:22 am** ]  
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Something lights up, over and over, on and off, on and off, just on the other side of his eyelids. There's a low rumble, warmth. He remembers....  
  
... it doesn't matter what he remembers. He doesn't want to remember.  
  
Someone is moving him. Arms under his shoulders, under his knees. He feels comforted, like when his father used to carry him to bed as a child. Hands gently lay him down, a soft, lilting voice he hasn't heard in years tells him he's going to be fine, and he wants to believe, wants to trust.  
  
  
  
He drifts toward consciousness again, briefly, long enough to crave the warmth he can feel nearby, even if he doesn't know why it's there or what's making it. He curls onto his left side, and backs toward the heat, stopping when his feet touch something under the covers. He puts up no resistance as he is sucked down into unconsciousness again.  
  
The warmth leaves, so he pulls the covers tighter around himself.  
  
There's... something... just on the edge of his mind. Something he should be doing, or thinking, or not doing.... He rolls over onto his right side, trying to find more of the intoxicating heat that he foggily remembers being next to him.  
  
His shoulder protests. Loudly. Throbbing, piercing, stabbing pain, and he sits up quickly to relieve it only to find another stabbing, searing, white-hot pain in his ass, and it all comes flooding back.  
  
Holden. The Basement. Being tied with a scarf.  
  
Using his safeword.  
  
Waking up lying on the pavement next to his car.  
  
He tries not to scream as he remembers blood and pain and Jonny and the hospital. Tries not to hyperventilate as he remembers the words HIV test and stitches and not knowing.  
  
Liam blinks awake to the sound of someone in pain. He turns over in time to see Christian sitting up and then recoiling, pain and fear and _memories_ flowing across his face before he opens his eyes wide and screams.  
  
"Christian! Christian, it's all right, you're safe. Come on, darlin', wake up, I'm here...." Some instinct tells Liam that touching him while he's remembering, apparently still half-dreaming, wouldn't be a good idea, so instead he sits up and uses his voice, trying to calm the young man down and bring him back to the present.  
  
Safe. He hasn't been safe in years. Not since... not since the last time that voice said he'd be safe.  
  
"There we go, easy. You're safe, you're with me, I won't let anyone hurt you, now breathe, darlin'...." Liam watched him, looking for cues to tell him that the nightmares were over. "Christian? Can you look at me?"  
  
Eyes wild, Christian's head whips around to look at the man beside him. It takes a second or two for the visage to sink in, and another second to be able to put a name to it.  
  
"Liam?" he asks in a whimper, blinking rapidly.  
  
"That's right, it's me." Liam gives him a lopsided smile and he reaches out, laying his hand down on the blanket between them. "We're at my place and you're staying here for a while. I'm taking care of you, do you remember?"  
  
He doesn't want to remember, doesn't want to think. He knows that. He did something.... "Liam?" he whispers, and lowers himself unsteadily back down to the bed. He covers his face with his hands, and curls onto his left side before Liam can see him cry.  
  
"It's all right, darlin', go ahead and cry. You've had a thoroughly fucked up few days and if anyone deserves a good cry, you do." Liam has to work to maintain a light, comforting tone. The bruises are even worse today and with the emotional shock apparently beginning to fade, the full realization of what happened is hitting. Christian's hurting and Liam wishes there were some way he could share the burden. All he can do right now, though, is be here.  
  
Christian buries his face in the pillow. He doesn't want Liam to see him like this. He doesn't want anyone to see him like this. Christian Bale does not cry, especially not over a dislocated shoulder and bruised wrists.  
  
He tries to slow his breathing, to get his tears under control. _Like crying for the camera, but in reverse,_ he thinks, _breathe fast to get the tears going, slow down again when you're done._ Every two or three sobs, he holds his breath, until he's almost all right, almost calm.  
  
 _There we go, much better,_ Liam thinks as Christian calms down and goes quiet. He waits until the young man's breathing slows to something approaching normal, then asks, "Do you remember what you did last night? What we did, at the club bar?"  
  
Christian nods.  
  
"Good. So you remember that you're mine while you're here. I'm responsible for you, I'm going to take care of you and help you find your balance again. And while we're together you're going to obey me and trust that I'm doing what's best for you." Liam lets his voice grow a bit sterner as he speaks -- not a lot, but just enough.  
  
He shudders at the tone, but part of him needs this, craves it. He doesn't understand why; he's never needed something like this before. He nods slowly, agreeing, because really, there's nothing else he can do.  
  
"Excellent. So, get up and get undressed. We're going to take a shower -- I'll help you -- and then we'll get dressed and get some breakfast." Liam turns his back on the lad and gets out of bed, shucking his own sleep pants and tossing them onto the pillow.  
  
It takes a second to get going, but Christian rolls to a sitting position, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He's not sure what happened to his own clothing; he's wearing a pair of -- he compares the length of the pants’ leg to his own -- Liam's track pants. His shirt is nowhere to be seen.  
  
Liam watches him for a few moments, but Christian's just sitting. He walks around the foot of the bed and asks, "Do you need help? Come on, now, I'm hungry. Strip."  
  
Christian wants to raise his eyes from the floor, but can't. Liam is standing right in front of him, naked. He turns his head a fraction away from the larger man, and stands slowly. He pulls the knot out of the drawstring, and allows the pants to fall to the floor. He waits for the comments to start; he knows he's in rough shape. Every bruise has turned a livid bluish-purple over the past few days.  
  
"Good lad. Come on, now -- you'll be better for a shower. The hot water will feel good on your aches." Liam leads the way to the shower and starts the water running. It's a big walk-in, with a bench along one wall and shower heads on two walls and on-demand hot water.  
  
Christian still can't move his arm very well, but Liam shows him how to wash his hair -- pouring a blop of shampoo on the back of his bad hand, then putting down the bottle and quickly scraping it up with his good hand and using that to lather up his hair. It takes some coordination at first, but it's not really difficult. Christian has a hard time reaching some areas on the right side of his body; Liam soaps those up for him, his touch impersonal.  
  
Although he tries to empty his mind, Christian has to keep telling himself it's Liam, over and over, to fight the urge to flee. Liam's very careful not to touch him unless he has to, and by the time his right side needs to be washed, he's almost grateful for the assistance. He hasn't showered since Tuesday, not properly at least. Sitting in the bathtub with hot water pounding down onto him after he got home from the hospital hadn't left him feeling any cleaner than when he got in.  
  
Liam washes himself while keeping an eye on Christian's efforts. He's secretly appalled by the look of him -- his entire right shoulder is a livid black-red-purple up onto the neck, down to the shoulder blade and encroaching onto the ribs and right pectoral. His wrists are bruised with a stuttering stripe of scabbing around about, his arse is darkened, and there are other, lesser patches of bruising scattered across his body. His lower lip is still swollen and scabbed and there are bite marks here and there -- the one on his back scabbed where it broke the skin.  
  
 _Buggering hell, the bastard did a number on him and that's sure._ Liam turns away to keep Christian from seeing the ferocity in his eyes. He's not a sadist in a scening sense, but when he sees a sub who's been ill-used by a dom his blood just boils and his knuckles itch to pound a few lessons into the bastard -- that's pain-dealing he could take honest pleasure in.  
  
As Liam turns, Christian can't help but glance over at him. A small distant part of his mind is amazed he managed not to for this long, given the sheer presence of the six-foot-four man. Even with men who are taller than he is -- Rupert's inch or two, for instance -- he never feels small, never feels intimidated. Liam's different though. He's not going to hurt Christian, and Christian knows that, but he can and will make him do as he's told.  
  
He watches the trail of soapy water sluicing off of Liam's calves and swirl down the drain. That's what he's here for. Control. He's been spiraling out of control, the beatings getting worse.... He has to find something else that works, because this is going to get him killed. _If it hasn't already,_ his mind warns.  
  
When they're rinsed and done, Liam shuts off the water and walks out to the bathroom proper. He drapes a bath sheet around Christian's shoulders, then takes another for himself and dries off briskly. He has enough scening partners stay over that he has a stash of extra toothbrushes, razors and such like; he lays out a selection for Christian near the second sink, then completes his own ablutions. He keeps an unobtrusive eye on him, ready to assist if needed, with either advice or an extra hand, but wants him to do for himself as much as he can.  
  
Christian pauses in front of the counter, staring down at the toothbrush, razor, and comb. He figures out how to sneak one hand out through the towel and still stay mostly covered, and brushes his teeth, sans toothpaste. Trying to get it on the brush and keep his towel secure would just be too much effort this morning. He sets the toothbrush on the counter, bends, and gathers water in his cupped hand to rinse his mouth. He spits as quietly and neatly as he can, not wanting to disturb the man beside him.  
  
He picks up the comb next, and makes quick use of it, not bothering to try to style or even part his hair, just combing it all down flat. It's not attractive, but that doesn't really matter anymore.  
  
His hand hovers over the razor, not quite touching it, fingers twitching. He wants to pick it up. Wants to cut and slash and slice until he isn’t Christian anymore, but it wouldn’t be very gracious of him to leave a mess for Liam.  
  
He glances at himself in the mirror; the three-day stubble on his chin is starting to gain definition, and if he leaves it much longer he'll have a thin goatee. Balling his left hand into a fist, he leaves the razor untouched.  
  
Christian manages well enough and when they're both done Liam heads back to the bedroom. He fishes two pairs of boxers out of the dresser, tosses one onto the bed and puts the other on. Another pair of track pants follows the boxers, then a pair of wool socks and a button-up flannel shirt that should go on over Christian's bad arm without too much struggle or pain. Everything is big but the bagginess of the shirt will help and it'll all do until they go over to Christian's place and pack his clothes and things.  
  
He watches Liam from the bathroom door, uncertain if he's supposed to follow, or wait where he is. When the older man starts digging out two sets of clothing, he enters the bedroom, making as little noise as possible by placing the ball of his foot on the floor first with each step. He stands beside the bed, watches the items pile up, notes the underwear. He hasn't worn underwear in... ages.  
  
Liam dresses himself quickly in an outfit similar to the one he laid out for Christian, but with a long-sleeved pullover. He looks over at the still-towel-clad young man and asks, "Do you need help?"  
  
Neither of them has said anything in minutes, and the break in the silence makes Christian jump. His eyes snap to Liam's face, and then immediately down to his feet. _Don't make eye contact,_ he remembers one of the dozens of subs at the Club saying. "Please...." His voice falters. Liam hasn't given him any other name to call him, so he takes a breath, and uses the one in the contract. "Please, Master," he whispers.  
  
"Christian...." Liam sighs. He's never had a boy before, and while he's familiar with the principles it seems it's quite different in practice. And this isn't exactly a normal situation anyway.... He's starting to feel like he's a bit over his head, but he's made a commitment and all he can do is his best. "If you have a question about something, or need help, you can always ask, lad. If you don't understand something, or if you simply can't do something, I'm not going to be angry with you. Now, do you need me to help you with something, or answer a question for you?"  
  
Christian nods. "Please, if you could h--" He swallows harshly, screwing his eyes up tight. This isn't working. It's just making him feel more helpless. He's been around long enough, been seen as either a sub or a dom long enough, that he knows distance will make this easier... in theory, at least.  
  
Changing the language is the first step. "Please, if Master could help his slave dress?" He's mostly dry under the towel, but he's been using it as a shield, flappy, fluttery armor. Time to let it go. Liam -- Master, he corrects himself -- has already seen him naked once this morning. He drops the towel.  
  
"Of course." Liam picks up the boxers and goes down on one knee -- on Christian's left, where his good hand is so he can lean on his shoulder -- to hold them for the lad to step into. The pants go on the same way, then he pulls the socks on over his feet. He stands up and gets the shirt, easing the right sleeve over the sore arm, then helping him find the left sleeve and buttoning him up. “There, that'll do for now. We'll go over to your place in a while and pack what you'll need. Although I have a feeling my shirts will be easier for you to get into and out of for a week or two."  
  
Christian nods mutely.  
  
"Come on, then. Let's get some breakfast and then we'll discuss how this is going to work." Liam brushes a gentle hand across Christian's head, petting his hair lightly, before leading the way downstairs. He knows the young man is uncomfortable with touches and is determined to help him get over it, slowly.  
  
Once down in the kitchen he starts pulling things out of the pantry and fridge. "Is there anything you're allergic to, or just can't stand?"  
  
Christian has to suppress a shudder when Liam touches his head. _You belong to him, it's his right,_ he tells himself repeatedly as he follows down to the kitchen. “Red meat," he replies.  
  
"That's fine," Liam says with a nod. "I don't think any meat would be a good idea for a while, so it's just as well." Christian's a bright lad; Liam's fairly sure he can figure out why that's so. "Your prescriptions are over there on the counter. Glasses are up here." He points to the corner of the counter where the pill bottles sit, then the cupboard next to the fridge. "Take the pain pills if you need them, and take the other two. Then you can set the table -- plates there, silverware in that drawer on the end. I usually eat on the breakfast bar." More pointing before Liam gets started on the food.  
  
He takes the antibiotics, hoping however long he was asleep didn't interfere with the times he's supposed to take them. He looks at the bottle of pain medication for a long moment, and then decides against it. He needs his head clear, and codeine always leaves him feeling muddled.  
  
Careful not to break anything, he sets a place for Liam on the counter. He hesitates as he reaches for a second plate. "Where would Master like his slave to be?"  
  
"Right next to my place would be fine, lad." Liam sends him a nod over one shoulder, then goes back to beating eggs for French toast. He has thick-sliced wheat bread to make it with, and some leftover apple crisp -- waiting to go in the microwave to heat up -- to serve on top of it. "I have orange and cranberry juice in the fridge," he says. "Pour me a glass of the orange, and a glass of whichever you like for yourself. I'll be done here in a few minutes; you can sit down if you like while you wait."  
  
Christian pours Liam's juice. He notices milk in the refrigerator, but it wasn't offered, so even though he'd prefer it, he takes orange juice instead.  
  
Liam adds cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg to the egg mixture, then presses the button on the microwave to heat the apples. He dips the bread, then plops it onto the hot griddle. Another slice soon follows. Before long he scoops both slices out with a spatula onto Christian's plate, then adds a large spoonful of the hot apple crisp on top. He says, "There you go, lad. Go ahead and start," while starting prep on his own. "If you want more of the apples, you can add more."  
  
"Thank you, Master," he whispers. He keeps his head bowed while he slowly begins to eat. He picks at the apples first, eating them and leaving the rest. Once he's done the last slice of apple, he starts on the crust of the french toast.  
  
Liam finishes his own batch, then dishes it up and sits down. Christian's eating slowly but he's making progress, so he leaves him alone for now. He has a feeling that if he starts asking questions, or even making conversation, the lad will stop eating, so he attends to his own breakfast in silence, not rushing at all, and giving Christian plenty of time to work his way through the French toast.  
  
Done with the crust, Christian slices up the interior into neat squares. He pauses to drink half the orange juice, then finishes the rest of his bread with more enthusiasm.  
  
 _There, that's better,_ Liam thinks, keeping a surreptitious eye on his charge. He finishes his own plate and sits back to drink his juice, contemplating what to include on a grocery order. He'd done some research the previous night and found that Christian needed to be on a semi-restricted diet for at least a week, to protect his stitches. High fiber, little or no meat or dairy -- it'd be almost like cooking for Chris... and the thought brings a tinge of depression with it.  
  
When they're both done, he says, "We'll go over to your place in a while and pack what you'll need. We'll put your things in the spare room, but I want you sleeping in my bed for the next few nights at least -- if you're in any pain at night or have nightmares, I want to be near you. We can stop at the postal office and have your mail forwarded here. Do you have a newspaper delivered, or anything else that needs to be forwarded or cancelled for now?"  
  
Christian places his knife and fork diagonally on his plate. "No, Master," he says, shaking his head. "Only the mail." His heart races at the idea of sleeping next to Liam every night. He's pretty sure he saw a bench under one of the windows; maybe Liam will let him sleep on that instead. He rises, and busses the table.  
  
Liam gives Christian a nod of approval when he begins to take care of the dishes. "When you've loaded the dishwasher, make me some tea, please. The tea is in the top drawer under the kettle and the mugs are in the cupboard above. I take it with about a tablespoon of honey. You may make some for yourself if you wish."  
  
He nods, but doesn't look back at Liam. "Yes, Master," he replies. Once he's set the water on to boil, he returns to Liam's side. "Will slave be permitted to have his telephone messages forwarded as well for Master's screening?" he inquires.  
  
Liam nods and says, "Yes, of course. Thank you, I'd forgotten that." He fetches his PDA from the coffee table near the couch and adds a note about the phone. His first instinct is to deny any need to screen Christian's calls, but he changes his mind. If that bitch of a nearly-ex-wife of his or anyone else calls and tries to harass the lad, Liam would prefer to hear it first and deal with it himself. He settles back down at the breakfast bar and asks, "What do you usually do with yourself when you're home alone?"  
  
The question seems to confuse him. "Pardon, Master?" he asks as he walks back to the tea. He arranges the cup, and waits for the water to boil.  
  
"When you're at home, by yourself -- what do you do?" Liam asks. "Do you read? Watch television? Do you have any hobbies?"  
  
His mouth opens, and then closes again as he shakes his head and squints. "Slave doesn't have time for hobbies... aside from exercising for an hour in the morning...." He turns the kettle off, and busies himself making Liam's tea.  
  
Liam raises an eyebrow at Christian's back but doesn't comment on his slave's lack of normal leisure time. "Exercise is good -- I'll want you to keep that up, around the limitations of your injuries until you're healed. Mind you, I'll be displeased if you push too hard before you're ready and injure yourself." He makes another note with his stylus, on a new page for Later: _Encourage a Hobby._ The lad needs to learn to relax. "What sort of exercising do you do? Do you need any equipment?"  
  
He carefully stirs in a tablespoon of honey from the squeeze-bottle. _Normal people have hobbies._ He shakes his head; he can still hear Faith's voice. _Normal people have hobbies, Christian. Normal people take vacations. Normal people don't need to get hurt to get off._  
  
The spoon slips from frozen fingers, and makes a small sploosh in the teacup. It jerks Christian out of the memory. He glances around, wondering how long he’s been standing there like an idiot.  
  
"Are you all right? Did you burn yourself?" Liam's voice is calm and even. He doesn't think the lad hurt himself, but it's a reasonable question, a way to bring him back from wherever his mind was drifting.  
  
Christian shakes his head quickly. "No, Master, I didn't burn myself." He puts the extra items away and delivers the tea.  
  
Liam nods his thanks, then asks, "Do you need any equipment to exercise?" not making a fuss about having to repeat himself since the lad was clearly drifting. That's likely to happen a lot for a while and he's ready to be patient.  
  
"No," he answers. "Some floor space to move around on, something to listen to music on."  
  
"That's easy enough -- you can use the attic. One end is full of computer equipment, but there's a reasonably decent sound system and a good deal of empty floor. It can get a bit chilly up there, but if you're going to be exercising then I don't expect that will bother you much."  
  
Christian nods slowly. "Thank you, Master," he whispers. His left hand is trembling, just slightly.  
  
"You're welcome." Liam watches Christian for a moment, then makes a decision. He'd been planning to take Christian up to the playroom where most of his play equipment was and get him a collar, but something tells him that'd be a bad idea right now. Instead, he says, "If you're done, go ahead and clean up -- just stick things in the dishwasher, wipe down the counters and the stove and clean the sink. I'm going to go up and get something -- I'll be down in a few minutes." He gives Christian an encouraging nod before heading upstairs.  
  
He moves to do as he's told. He tries to clear his mind, but Faith's voice is still there, clamoring for attention. _Worthless,_ she screams at him, over and over. _Worthless freak!_ His eyes start to burn as he stacks the dishes in the dishwasher, and by the time he adds the soap tablet everything is a blur of unshed tears.  
  
 _You're going out again? To that club?_ she demands. _Out with all the other freaks? They don't want you, Christian._ He scrubs at the sink, faster and rougher as her voice grows in volume and intensity. _Who the fuck would want you?_  
  
Liam looks through the collars in his cabinet. There aren't all that many, really; he's never Collared anyone before with a capital "C," and they're all rather plain and utilitarian. He'd prefer something special, chosen particularly for Christian, but he doesn't think Christian would do well in a busy shop right now, nor does he want to leave him alone. He finally chooses a black leather collar with a single steel ring and a small lock. It's faced with silk and not too wide to be comfortable, supple with use and care. He has a pair of cuffs that go with it that he wants to put onto Christian as well, but they can wait.  
  
He heads back downstairs and sees that the kitchen's nearly done. He stands back and waits until the lad is finished, then says, "Christian, come here and kneel."  
  
Unaware that Liam has returned, Christian continues scrubbing, Faith's voice joined now by his father's. _Are you telling me you're a goddamned nancy?_  
  
Hot water flows over his left hand unfelt; he's oblivious to his surroundings.  
  
Christian is tense and trembling, clearly drifting. Liam moves over to stand in front of the counter a couple of feet away from the sink, to one side where he's in range of the lad's peripheral vision. He says, "Christian?" once more, louder but still in an even, neutral tone.  
  
The sound of Liam's voice so close jolts Christian out of his reverie. His body reacts to the threat by spinning left into a martial stance, wet hand snapping out toward the form beside him. He narrowly misses the edge of the counter.  
  
"It's all right," Liam focuses on not reacting, not flinching; he'd expected some sort of startled move, although this was a bit more than he'd imagined. He notes the stance and makes a mental reminder to be careful of how he brings Christian up from his dazes, then says in the same even voice, "It's only me. There's no one else here and you're safe." He waits a moment for Christian's eyes to focus before continuing. "Turn off the water, then come here and kneel, facing me."  
  
Christian holds the stance for a moment, then stands straight and takes an unsteady step backward, stunned that only the clumsiness of having his right arm in a sling kept him from hitting the man who has taken him in. He turns the water off, then drops harshly to his knees. He walks back to Liam on his knees, and with tears in his eyes, presses his forehead against Liam's thigh.  
  
All Liam's instincts are pushing him to kneel down and take Christian in his arms, cuddle and reassure him. He's always been a very physical, touching person but he knows that would backfire here so he restrains himself to one hand stroked gently through the lad's hair. Then he tilts Christian's head back a bit and shows him the collar. "This is mine," he says. "You'll be wearing it to let everyone know that you're mine as well. That 'everyone' includes you, lad." He wraps the collar around Christian's throat and makes sure of the fit before clicking the lock shut. "You _are_ mine. Mine to own, mine to protect, mine to care for. I expect you to take good care of my property--" the hand brushes over Christian's head once more, making sure he knows what property Liam means, "--and to let me know immediately if there's ever something wrong you can't deal with yourself. Do you understand?"  
  
Shaking all over now, Christian nods. He wants to touch the unfamiliar accessory, like he played with his wedding band when he and Faith were first married. It feels warm from Liam's hands, and although it's not too heavy, the weight makes a difference on the bruise around his shoulder. The pain feels good, reassuringly familiar.  
  
His body begins to relax as the warmth and the pain sink in, and Liam's words wash over him. _Mine._ The click of the lock and the hand on his hair bring the tears back, and he presses his cheek against his Master's leg. His father's voice continues to bellow, Faith's voice tries to bite, but it's inconsequential now. Liam has given him proof of ownership. _Mine._  
  
"There, lad. You let me do the worrying. Your primary task is to heal." Liam sees some of the tension leave Christian, feels him relaxing against his thigh, and a little of his own stress dissipates as well. Only a little, because the task has just begun and it's still a daunting one, but this is a good first step. "And once your wrists heal up a bit, I've a set of cuffs that match the collar. We'll give it a week or so and then see how you feel."  
  
 _Cuffs._ His head spins. In all his years working at the club, he's never worn a collar, never collared someone else. He has heard subs wax poetic about their collars, about belonging to someone, but he's never actually experienced it.  
  
Liam pauses for a few moments, but Christian doesn't respond. "All right, then, let's go get our shoes on and we'll go over to your place and pack and such. We'll get all that taken care of and get you settled in." He gives the lad's hair another caress, then steps back and waits for him to stand before heading upstairs.  
  
He follows his Master quietly, head bowed to better feel the leather around his throat. _We. Our._ His breathing slows and calms as his Master takes control. He is possessed now, an object, a tool to be used for or by his Master at his whim. His Master will protect him from harm, guard him while his wounds heal, smooth out his imperfections. It doesn't matter anymore if he's gay or bi, famous or just another face, rich or poor. He, Christian, doesn't matter. The voices shrieking at Christian have no power here, and the slave is at peace.  
  
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	9. Chapter 9

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_**Chris goes to Liam's and meets Christian**_  
The rolls are in a covered basket and the soup -- a reprise of the thick vegetable soup he made when Craig came over, done and keeping warm over low heat -- gets a stir. Chris should be here shortly and everything's as ready as it's going to get, at least so far as lunch itself is concerned. Conversation is something else. Liam doesn't think, "I want you, I need you, please don't vanish," would be welcome right now, except perhaps on the slim chance that Chris had a considerable epiphany some time in the last few days. Having him walk in all smiles and understanding would be grand, but Liam's not going to count on it. He's hoping for... well, less awkwardness than he suspects will actually be the case.  
  
Christian, who's eaten already, is setting two places at the bar. He'll be serving and cleaning up, his first experience doing so with someone else present, and hopefully that'll go well.  
  
Liam glances at the clock. A few more minutes. He says, "I'm going to go upstairs and change -- my shirt's a bit spattered. I'll be back in a minute."  
  
Christian says, "Yes, Master," and goes about his task.  
  
Chris lingers and loiters during his trip to the shop, picking up several things before deciding on some books and a tin of chamomile tea for Christian. _I don't know you and I'm sorry you were injured and please don't fall in love with Liam or vice versa, thank you_. He pays for the things then heads out to flag down a cab, his burdens weighing as heavily in his hands as the one on his mind.   
  
He's spent the week working, drinking and being comforted by Isla and Cillian, whom Chris considers bright shining blessings in his life right now. They put up with his pathetic hang-dog routine without telling him to get over it once -- kindness and patience were truly their virtues. Even Isla surprised him with her lack of "I told you so" or "Grow a pair."  
  
And now with a shopping bag of gifts for Liam and Christian, he was putting on his polite and kind face, taking the cab over to have a civilized lunch. To make sure Liam didn't think he was a jerk.  
  
He really didn't want Liam to think he was a jerk, no matter how everything turned out.  
  
Liam comes back downstairs and very deliberately does _not_ check the time again. He looks over the setting and says, "There are two open jars of jam in the fridge -- add those next to the butter for the rolls, please."  
  
Christian says, "Yes, Master," once more and goes to fetch the jam. Then everything's ready and they only have to wait.  
  
"Good job -- that looks lovely."  
  
Christian nods. "Thank you, Master," he replies quietly, and kneels next to Liam.  
  
Liam reaches over to stir the soup. Now they're just waiting.  
  
He drops his wallet twice but manages to pay the driver and get himself and the shopping bag out of the car without breaking anything. There's an exaggerated pause on the sidewalk while he puts his wallet away in his bag and then -- it's unavoidable.  
  
Chris walks up to Liam's door and presses the doorbell, his stomach seizing with nerves as he does.  
  
 _Be a man, be a man, smile, be polite_....  
  
After a quick glance up for permission, Chistian rises to his feet, and pads silently to the door. He opens it, and immediately steps aside so his Master's guest can enter.  
  
Liam approaches behind Christian and pauses a couple of steps inside the entryway. "Chris, hello." He can't stop the wistful smile that spreads across his face, and hell, he doesn't want to. He hasn't seen the lad since Saturday and his head, heart and gut all agree that's far too long.  
  
Christian nods. "May I take your coat?" he offers quietly.  
  
"Sure thanks." Chris puts his bags down on the floor and unzips his jacket, tucking his gloves in the pockets before handing it to Christian with another bright smile. "Thanks a lot, that's really nice of you," he babbles before leaning down to look at the bags at his feet as if they'll either whisk him from this or hand him some answers.  
  
Christian moves to hang up Chris's coat. His posture stiffens uncomfortably when Chris thanks him.  
  
Liam steps into the breach, literally, and draws attention away from Christian by moving forward to envelope Chris in a hug. He moves a bit more slowly than usual, giving Chris a chance to pull back if he wants. It would've been unthinkable so short a time ago, but now it's just... prudent.  
  
 _Really bad idea_ , Chris thinks, his stomach and throat tightening as Liam pulls him close. He wants to fight away from him and cling like a child at the same time; the conflict drives him to return the hug and step away, far quicker than he'd like.  
  
"Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry," he murmurs, watching Christian out of the corner of his eye. "I got him a gift if that's okay."  
  
Liam resists an urge to hold on to Chris and lets him step away. "No, nothing wrong," he says, reassuring him with a small smile. "Thank you, that was very thoughtful." Sweet, loving, generous.... He glances at Christian and says, "You may accept it."  
  
Christian looks back and forth between the bag and Liam before grasping the handles. "Yellow," he whispers in a strangled tone, and leaves the room in a rush, heading up the stairs.  
  
Liam watches Christian vanish, torn for just a moment before he cups Chris's cheek in one palm and says, "This is _not_ your fault. You did nothing wrong and he'll be fine. I'll be right back," then turns and follows Christian up the stairs at a jog.  
  
Chris leans against the door with a decidedly damp sigh. Impressive how he fucked up so quickly -- not even out of the foyer this time....  
  
He thinks he should leave; maybe just put Liam's Christmas present on the table, write a quick note of apology and run out the door, to the airport and take the first plane home. Hell, maybe his parents won't mind turning the guest room back into _his_ room.  
  
Liam's heading back down the stairs a minute later. He can see how dejected Chris looks, in his posture as well as his face, and his heart clenches. When he reaches the landing, he pauses just within arm's reach and says, "He'll be fine. You're the first person besides myself he's encountered since we went to his place to pack up on Saturday and it was harder than we thought it'd be. He's all right now and knows I'm not upset with him." He takes a step closer and murmurs, "Do _you_ understand I'm not upset with you? I'm not, you know. It's good for him to see that complete strangers can be kind. He wasn't ready to deal with it just now, but he'll remember."  
  
"M' just upset with myself. I should have...maybe stayed away longer or something." The words tumble out; Chris' hand goes to his forehead for a moment and he shakes his head. "Sorry. Just threw me. It's...I just hope he's okay."  
  
Finally Chris looks up, hurt and helped at once by Liam being so close. He wants to reach out, press his fingers against the worried wrinkles on Liam's forehead, comfort _him_ but he's rooted to the spot. The boundaries are suddenly...confused.  
  
"Maybe when I get back from Boston he'll be feeling better and I can try again," he offers.  
  
"No," Liam says immediately, his voice still low, and he shakes his head in negation. "It might've.... It might've been better for him, I don't know. But it wouldn't have been better for me. I've missed you."  
  
He reaches out with one finger and draws it lightly along the soft skin under Chris's jaw, from throat to chin. It's only a touch, not a pull at all -- a spot of warmth moving forward to just below his lips and then gone.  
  
The touch is paralyzing; Chris sighs, eyes closing for a moment. "I've missed you too..." he whispers.  
  
Another step forward and then Liam's arms wrap around Chris, slowly, as though he fears spooking a wild animal. He's not sure this is the right thing to do, but then he's rarely sure of much anymore when Chris is near. All his accustomed confidence and certainty vanish, leaving him blindly guessing with nothing to guide him but the needs of his heart.  
  
Logic tells him to bolt, just tear away and _run_. He's so far in over in his head he can't see the surface anymore and logic is no longer being applied. Winding his arms around Liam, Chris presses his face into the curve of his neck, desperately seeking...something. "Missedyousomuch. </i>  
  
"No more than I missed you, dear heart. So much." Liam sways back and forth, rocking them both gently, impressing the memory of how it feels to have Chris in his arms, pressed up against him, his hair soft under his cheek, expecting him to vanish or at least come to his senses and jerk away at any moment.  
  
Soothing, that's what it is. The more time he spends in Liam's arms, the more seduced he is. The more he doesn't want to leave...and his body tenses up slightly.  
  
"I...brought you your Christmas present," he murmurs, pulling away just slightly. "Since I'm not going to see you until...after." Chris makes no assumptions with his words just yet, about New Year's.  
  
Liam releases him immediately and takes a step backward. "I've something for you as well," he says, locking the memory away safe in his mind as he moves into the living room. He'd set Chris's gift out on the coffee table earlier, wrapped in bright red paper with green wreaths on it, and green ribbons but no bows to be flattened in a suitcase. He picks it up and presents it in both hands, a smile easier to produce when he imagines Chris opening it in ten days and thinking of him.  
  
"Thank you," Chris smiles shyly, his fingers brushing against Liam's as he takes it. He then picks up his shopping bag and carefully hands it to Liam. "Yours is in there. I didn't wrap it which is why it looks so nice," he rambles. Inside is the small siver box, topped with a snowflake; a very personal gift that Chris worries is _too_ personal now. "I hope you like it."  
  
"I'm sure I will." Liam grins and adds, "Even if you didn't wrap it, you chose it and it's quite nice." He sets it down on a small table under the window and for a moment contemplates getting a Christmas tree this year. He never has, since he doesn't spend Christmas at home, but perhaps this year.  
  
"Are you hungry?" he asks. "I made vegetable soup and some rolls for lunch."  
  
His stomach isn't feeling much along the hunger lines but knowing Liam he's gone to trouble to get lunch on the table -- and Chris isn't going to disappoint him any more than he already has.  
  
"Thank you, that sounds good," he says, sinking his hands into his pockets. A sideways glance up the stairs distracts him but he follows Liam to the kitchen without asking.  
  
Chris sounds less than enthusiastic, but then Liam himself isn't feeling perfectly chipper either. They're both doing reasonably well and if it's not the reunion of his fantasies it's going well enough and is _much_ better than not getting together at all.  
  
He leads the way back to the kitchen and indicates places set at the bar. He brings the pot over and ladels out thick, golden soup into the bowls. "Yams, carrots and pumpkin -- enough beta-carotene to give you X-ray vision -- with potatoes, onions and garlic, and some chopped parsley and basil." He points the ladel at the covered bread basket and says, "The rolls have some potato in them; it gives them a bit of sweetness." He sets the pot back on the stove, makes sure the burner is at its lowest setting, then goes back over to sit down.  
  
The very...Liam-ness of the menu recitation makes Chris break into a smile; however wan and tinged with sadness it is, it's his first honest one since he arrived.  
  
"It looks and _smells_ wonderful," Chris says, picking up his spoon to dip into the hearty mixture. "The catering on the set isn't half as good as what you've cooked for me...."  
  
"Of course not. They're doing it for a paycheck while I'm doing it for... you." Liam looks away for a moment, then takes a roll for himself out of the basket and passes it to Chris.  
  
His spoon clangs on the side of the bowl; Chris takes the basket and then a roll before putting it down.  
  
"I appreciate you...going to so much trouble...for me," he manages to get out, picking the spoon back up to poke at the soup. "I...I'm sorry Liam."  
  
Liam's gaze softens and he wants to pull Chris into his arms so badly he aches with it. "And what have you to be sorry for, dear heart? I'm not upset with you, you must believe that. I'm the one who should apologize, if anyone. I can't change what's happened, nor can I change who I am, and I'd not deliberately hurt you for anything, but I have all the same and 'sorry' is so inadequate."  
  
"You shouldn't apologize for who you are Liam -- and I'm not asking you to change. I'm just...sorry I can't be more understanding or...something." His voice is soft; he shoves some soup in his mouth to keep from saying anymore. Not that that stops him for long.  
  
"It's not your fault I'm not...good at...this." _This_? Do they offer classes on _this_ at the Club? He should find out. He should show up and ask someone to teach him to find this all easier to navigate.  
  
"No worse than I," Liam reminds him. He breaks and butters a roll, glancing up every few seconds during the process. "Do you think that, perhaps, if we could work on it together, our... mutual... ineptitude? Might eventually converge someplace?" He sighs and puts his roll back down on its plate. "Or perhaps that's unfair to ask. I'm sorry, I just... I feel you slipping away and I can't stand it."  
  
Chris puts the spoon down, resting his hands on his lap under the table. He stares at the swirl of color in the bowl, thinking about Sarlat and hiding in that room, so undone by everything going on around him -- only to be rescued by Liam, who offered him comfort and friendship and guidance. And now in his arrogance, to be hurt by his own assumption that it made him _special_ , instead of being the recipient of things that Liam gave to people he met in need....  
  
"I don't want to slip away Liam. I really, really don't. I'm just trying to figure out where I...stand. How I fit into your world. I don't know if I'm...selfless enough."  
  
Liam opens his mouth, then closes it. There's so much he wants to say, words that are crowding together, pushing to escape. But the last shred of logic and sanity left in his frazzled mind is telling him he's infatuated, that it feels real but it's just drugs, intensified by the pressure of this whole damned situation, and that any promises he might make right now, any reassurances about the future, are worthless. He _might_ feel the same in a month or two but then again he might not and he's not about to lead the boy on with colorfully wrapped shite.  
  
"All I know," he says finally, "is that right now I care for you very much. I want you and need you and I miss you when you're gone. I've fucked a lot of people since we met that weekend -- I could give you a number if you let me have a minute to do some arithmetic -- but although I've fond memories of all of them and some hopes of playing again with most of them someday, I don't wake up in the night reaching for anyone but you. I don't think of them while I'm cooking, wondering if they'd like this or that dish, or how I could modify it for them. And when I'm so tired and frustrated with everything that's going on, I don't wish any of them were here for me to hold and lean on -- only you." He shrugs, feeling wrung-out and helpless. "That's where you stand. That's where you fit into my world. It's the best I can offer."  
  
One hand rubs across Chris' forehead; he's shaking slightly but he doesn't want to show that.  
  
It's laid out in front of him, no holds barred. He knows the score, he can't pretend not to. He can't cling to his romantic illogical assumptions. He knows full damn well that if he stays with this man a second longer, it's inevitable he's going to fall completely in love.  
  
The urge to flee wells up, he even pushes the chair back slightly but he can't move.  
  
He doesn't move.  
  
"All right, Liam," he says, his voice so soft it's barely audible. "All right. I...accept that. All of it."  
  
And... Liam can't possibly have heard what he remembers hearing just a moment past. But he did and it couldn't have been mistaken for anything else. He's completely taken aback at the quiet acceptance, has no idea what to do or say and just sits there while his lungs expand and his heart beats and everything goes on as though the world were normal except that the echo of Chris saying, "All right, I accept," is still hanging in the air.  
  
He swallows hard, then reaches out and brushes his fingertips across one perfect cheekbone, then curls it around behind the lad's head. He lets out a long sigh and leans over to rest their foreheads together, all the tension and ache and nagging sickness that'd been knotted up inside him uncurling and loosening and flowing out with his breath. This one thing, this anchor in his life -- as shiny and new as it is, with the factory tags still dangling -- is enough to hold him steady and firm in the angry storm his life has become.  
  
"Thank you," he whispers.  
  
He's pretty sure he's going to need an Act of God to keep from breaking down. There's so much tension and stress and pain still locked in his cells -- he wants to go lie down someplace and let it be released so he can breathe again.  
  
"You're welcome," Chris says stupidly, his eyes closed as he breathes in Liam's warmth and tenderness. Whatever Liam is offering he'll take -- because he can't walk away. His heart is already lost.  
  
Liam smiles at the quiet relief bubbling up inside him, then presses a kiss to Chris's forehead and leans back to look at him. There's confusion and shock in those lovely blue eyes, but that's fair since Liam's feeling rather taken aback himself. He brushes the lad's hair back with one gentle hand and says, "I'll do my best to see that you never have regrets." It sounds... watery, said out loud like that, but it's the most anyone can honestly promise another person and even when his brains are feeling scrambled Liam's always honest.  
  
There's more he wants to say but it wouldn't be right, not now. If the feelings last, if they prove true over time, then he'll release all the words swirling on the tip of his tongue. But not until then.  
  
For now, Chris is here and he's said that Liam is enough, that what he is will do. And for now, with that, Liam is content.  
  
What does he say to that? Thank you? Chris manages to smile, leaning his arms on the table. "We'll both do our best," he murmurs, touching the spoon again, moving the soup around. "All anyone can do, right?"  
  
"Exactly. All we can do is our best."  


  


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|  | Jack Davenport ([](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/profile)[ **jack_d**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/) ) wrote,  
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_**Land Mines - Jack calls Christian**_  
(players only, takes place the evening of December 15, follows [this](http://www.journalfen.net/users/hisboy/4413.html))  
  
  
  
It's been a rough few days. Jack hasn't been into the office or even called his mother, beyond calling briefly to say that something had come up and he'd call her soon. He's been hiding out and he's even willing to admit that. The sun is setting as he looks outside the windows of his flat, and he pours himself a drink. Not like the other day when he had got trashed, just one this time. He sips it slowly and figures he might as well torture himself another way, picking up the phone. He doesn't need to look Liam's number up. He somehow managed to memorise it in the last few days. It was probably looking at it over and over that had done it.  
  
Liam hands the phone to Christian. "It's your friend."  
  
"Jack?" Christian's voice is quiet on the other end of the phone.  
  
"How are you?" Jack asks, quietly. It's a little easier than he'd thought, at least to start with, but he knows that might change. "I've been thinking about you..."  
  
There's a small breath of air from the other end that sounds almost like a soft laugh. "I've missed you too, Jack."  
  
Christian cradles the phone next to his ear, and closes his eyes. He can see Jack in his mind; not Jack at the Club, but Jack over lunch, laughing and relaxed.  
  
"Yeah?" Jack smiles softly at that, and he's pretty sure it's coming through in his voice. "I've missed you. It feels like way too long since we were alone... really alone." He's not even thinking of sex, just the time they talked and had lunch. It had been ordinary, average. But that had been what he'd liked. He hadn't had to be anyone but himself. Just Jack.  
  
Christian nods slowly. "I know." I know it's my fault.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's not your fault," Jack says. "I'm the one who was away for so long. Not that I would have been if I'd had anything to say about it. I admit I may have bruised my ghillie's innocent ears when he called me the day I got back from the States."  
  
Christian sighs. "I..." He can't say it. Can't admit that he misses Jack.  
  
"I can't help but wonder how it might have turned out differently if I hadn't had to go to Scotland," Jack murmurs. "And I don't ever look back like that."  
  
He runs his hand through his hair. "Don't, Jack. Please."  
  
"All right," he says. "Whatever you need. So, how is it, being in a contract?" he asks. He actually is a little curious.  
  
"So far. not too bad. A lot of housework."  
  
"Housework?" Jack sounds like he's talking about alien exploration. "That's something I can't quite imagine you doing."  
  
He makes a small noise. "Did you think Faith cleaned our house?"  
  
"No, but I expected you had someone to do it, and that was probably terribly spoiled of me to think. I'm just...used to someone for that." He does laugh, a little.  
  
"If I was Christian Bale, movie star, I might be too... but I'm not. I'm Christian Bale, duty manager."  
  
"I see," Jack nods, even though Christian can't see him. He can't help but find the idea of Christian trying to clean the Hall funny. It's a bit large. He laughs. "Just promise me when - and I do believe it will be when - I take you to my home that you won't get the urge to scrub it from top to bottom? It's an awfully big place and I wouldn't want you to tire yourself out." He hopes very much that the joke isn't the wrong thing to say.  
  
Take you to my home. The words leave Christian off-balance, and the only thing he can think of to say is "Okay."  
  
"I want you to come to my home, one day," Jack says. "I want... so much," he admits. "Maybe things I shouldn't want from you yet."  
  
Christian swallows. "There's nothing wrong with wanting," he whispers after a moment of silence.  
  
"Maybe not, but wanting something you know you can't have... I'm a little too familiar with that. And I know that, everything being equal, I will have what I want with you, but... it hurts," he admits. "I thought... the wanting and not having was done. I feel like it's... like I shouldn't feel this way, that I wasn't the one who had the hospital visit..." he's not even sure what he's saying makes any sense.  
  
The phone drops onto Christian's lap as his hand goes numb. Slut, the little voice inside him whispers vindictively. He wanted you, and then you went out and fucked it all up. He starts to tremble all over as he stares down at the phone resting against his thigh. He looks around for Liam, trying to regain some semblance of control, but he's nowhere to be seen.  
  
Fucked it up. I fucked it up. The words repeat in his mind, over and over. I fucked it up. He recoils from the phone as though it burns, scrambles away from it and then to his feet. The plastic rattles against the floor, but he doesn't hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. Fucked it up.  
  
"Christian!" Jack calls into the phone when he hears it drop to the floor. "Christian!" He doubts he's heard, but he has to try.  
  
Part of him yearns to talk to Jack, misses him terribly, the other part is disgusted with himself, blames himself for what happened almost a week ago. He stands in front of the sofa, uncertain, one hand out toward the phone, the other wrapped tight around his ribs.  
  
He pulls his hand back, makes it into a fist, and rubs it against his temple as he begins to pace. Torn between saying yellow and red, he makes a keening sound. He wants to talk to Jack so badly, wants to hear his voice again, yearns for it. Hesitantly, he picks up the receiver, grips it with two fingers at first, and then clutches it to his chest, over his heart. It's a step, he knows, and he can only hope that Jack hasn't hung up by the time he gathers his wits about him.  
  
Knowing that something is happening, though of course he has no idea what, Jack has no intention of hanging up until Christian lets him know he's all right. He'll even settle for Liam letting him know if it's necessary, but he's not cutting the connection until he hears something beyond the utter silence at the other end of the line. So he waits.  
  
"I'm sorry," Christian whispers in the empty room. There's no way the person on the other end of the line could understand the muffled noise through the microphone pressed against his chest, but he says it again, rehearsing, letting repetition take the meaning away so he can say it without feeling the urge to scream.  
  
Waiting isn't so bad. Jack can do this. He doesn't have anywhere else to be or anything he needs to do. At least nothing urgent.  
  
The telephone has created grooves on his palm by the time his fingers unfold. He tilts the phone so it's not muffled anymore, but he can't quite bring it to his ear, afraid of what Jack thinks right now. "I'm sorry," he whispers, eyes clenched tightly closed.  
  
"It's all right," Jack says. "It'll be all right, Christian. We'll get through this, I know its going to take time, but I want to be here. I want to be with you. I..." No. He knows if he says those words now it's not only going to be wrong, it's probably going to destroy whatever they do have. Christian wouldn't believe him right now. Would he?  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack," he repeats. "I'm sorry. I f-fucked everything up, I'm sorry." There's a twisting sensation in his chest that drops him to his knees, and he curls around the phone, rocking. "I'm sorry, Jack, I'm sorry."  
  
"You didn't fuck everything up," Jack can barely hear and he's hoping like hell Christian can hear him. "It's okay. We'll get there, Christian. We have people to lean on during this." He would laugh, but it wouldn't make sense. He hasn't talked to anyone. How can he go up to anyone and say _"My almost lover got raped, and he's into kinky sex and oh, by the way, so am I. And now he's in a contract slave relationship - without sex - with someone else."_ Oh, sure, he can tell someone about this. But that's not the point here. "It's okay," he repeats. "It's okay."  
  
"I sh - I sh - I sh..." It takes a few tries to finish the word as he starts to cry in earnest. "Sh-sh-shouldn't have g-gone. 'm sorry, Jack, sorry."  
  
"You couldn't have known. You didn't want that," Jack soothes, trying his best. "That isn't what you were looking for. I know you didn't want it. I know you just wanted to forget..." For a brief, stupid instant, Jack wonders if it would work for him. Not that he will, but he wonders if it could blot out this....  
  
"Yellow," he whispers through the tears. "Yellow, Jack, yellow. C-can't..."  
  
"You want me to stop talking about this?" Jack is instantly aware of the safeword. "We can talk about something else. Anything. Just tell me what you need..."  
  
"P-please," Christian gasps, nose running and breath hitching in his chest. "Yellow, Jack, can't, not yet, yellow."  
  
"Do you want me to talk?" Jack asks. "Or be quiet? Or hang up?" He hopes the last one isn't what he wants, but this is about Christian, completely.  
  
"Quiet," he moans miserably. "Stop. Jus' second." The phone thuds against the sofa where Christian drops it as he shuffles to the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of ice water, drinks half, and then refills the glass. He braces his forearms on the counter and leans down, tries to breathe deeply and evenly through the pain.  
  
That's okay, he can do this. He's pretty sure Christian isn't there, but he stays silent anyway. He figures Christian will talk when he's ready for words again. Jack can't do much until then.  
  
It takes him a few minutes to calm himself enough to go back to Jack. He takes his water with him, sipping at it before sitting down. "Jack?" he asks softly as he runs the cool glass over his forehead.  
  
"Yes," Jack says, quietly, not wanting to scare Christian. "I'm here."  
  
Christian feels the urge to giggle, but he's not sure why. "God. S-sorry." He takes a deep breath. "Jesus." He exhales in a rush. "Sorry. I didn't..." he sighs, and takes another sip of water. "Didn't mean to fall apart like that."  
  
"It's okay," Jack replies. "I don't think there is a right way for us to be about this, and I do know this one isn't wrong. Feelings are complicated things."  
  
He readjusts himself on the sofa, stretching his legs a bit. "Can we... Let's just leave that alone for a while, okay?" he asks. "Just.. completely?"  
  
"Okay," Jack says. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I just... it feels like the elephant in the room..." He sighs. "This so isn't even near what I expected when I got home. I thought we'd be... having lunch at Citadel and... I'd hoped..." he doesn't think this will be too close to what Christian has asked him not to talk about, but he doesn't go into details.  
  
Anger wells up in his chest, and he throws the phone into the corner of the sofa. He slams the glass down onto a nearby table, and scrubs his face with his hands. God-fucking_DAMMIT!  
  
Not the right thing, not that he's surprised. He shouldn't have said that, either. Maybe he should hang up. He just does not know what will set Christian off and maybe... he just doesn't know.  
  
He snatches the phone up again, still furious. "I'm sorry, Jack," he snarls. "I'm sorry this isn't what you expected. I'm sorry I'm not the pretty little boyfriend you can take to dinner or home to meet Mother, and I'm sorry if you thought we'd be fucking like god-damned BUNNIES right now, but I didn't want this EITHER!"  
  
"I know you didn't," Jack says, trying very hard to remain calm. It's not going to do either of them any good if he gets angry too. And he's... actually not. "I would have," he says, quietly. "I still want to, one day. Have you meet my mother. And the rest of my family, such as there is of it now." He braces himself for another outburst of anger, but dammit, he isn't going to back away.  
  
The righteous fury he was working himself into drains away with Jack's calm tone, leaving him feeling empty. "Jack," he whispers, contrite. "Jack.. I didn't mean..."  
  
"I know you didn't," Jack answers, calmly. "I know, Christian. It's all right." He wants to say that he doesn't think he'd be taking this as well as Christian is, but that's under the no go area, at least for now. "I know you didn't."  
  
He sighs heavily. "Maybe... maybe we should just call it a night, before I say something I'll regret," he suggests quietly. He doesn’t want to hang up, but he's afraid that Jack won't take much more.  
  
"Not possible," Jack says. "I mean... nothing could make me... leave." He thinks that's kind of funny, in a warped way. He's miles away from Christian, assuring him he won't leave. But there are more distances than physical. "Unless you really want to?" Maybe he has had enough for himself and Jack doesn't want to force him to stay.  
  
"I just.. I'm tired, and I'm.. stressed. Liam's boyfriend was over today, and.. I just couldn't deal with it."  
  
"I didn't know Liam had a boyfriend... well, not for sure, though he did say something that made me think he might. That... must be difficult," Jack says. "Did he give you a hard time at all?"  
  
"Not deliberately." He looks around for his water, finds the glass, and takes a sip. "He was nice, and polite, and... I'm just not up for nice and polite, as you may have noticed."  
  
"I think I did catch that," Jack says. "Ouch. It sounds like it was difficult for all concerned?" He can do this, he's actually a little curious about all this. Not that he would pry... but if Christian needs an ear, he's there for him.  
  
Christian nods. "I ended up saying yellow and running upstairs," he confesses quietly. "He brought me things," he says, trying to explain. "Books and tea. I don't... He doesn't know me, you know? He shouldn't have done that. I'm not here to... make new friends." He runs a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't complain that someone was trying to be kind, should I?"  
  
"He doesn't understand. I don't think any of us do, though," Jack says, honestly. "It's not about shouldn't, Christian... it really isn't about that for either of you. Then again, I don't know if you'd take books and tea from me right now..."  
  
He shrugs. "I might, right now. In an hour, though..." He shifts on the sofa. "It was collar time. He shouldn't have treated me like a person." As he says it, it occurs to him that he hasn't mentioned the collar yet. "Oh. Liam put a collar on me," he adds matter-of-factly.  
  
"So you were wearing it and... ah..." Jack nods, again forgetting Christian can't see him. It actually isn't a surprise, it's not like he hasn't seen many collared slaves in his life. It's a little... odd to think of his... what the hell should he call Christian anyway? They aren't lovers, boyfriend is just weird right now and he can't think of a term. It's a little odd to think of his... whatever Christian is in a collar not his, though. And that is a thought he's definitely not going to say.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Christian frowns a little, thinking about the morning.  
  
"So it was awkward?" Jack asks.  
  
He stifles a grin by rubbing his free hand over his face. "Oh yeah. I'm trying to take his coat, and he's practically falling all over himself being polite... Awkward's one word for it."  
  
"I would have loved to see that," Jack says. "Mind you, I do understand how he's probably feeling..." He cuts that one off before it gets too far. "I was just thinking, what should I call you? I don't mean Christian. I was trying to come up with a word that fitted what we are to each other and most of them... really don't work for where we are."  
  
The question takes him by surprise. "I.. have no idea. What do you want to call me?"  
  
"I'm trying to think. Not boyfriend..." Jack shudders. "That just... so isn't you. I don't mean that badly, but I can't think of you that way. Friend works, but I have friends who I don't... who aren't like you. I'm starting to think partner might be the only viable one."  
  
"Don't think I'm boyfriend material?" Christian teases gently.  
  
"Actually, yes, you are, but I don't really like the word, it just... it doesn't feel right. You know? I care about you... I'm..." Jack knows. "It's just not the word for how I feel."  
  
"Special friend sounds like you're part of my entourage.. or we're in our seventies..."  
  
Jack laughs at that one. "And we aren't that old yet... even if I feel a hundred some days."  
  
"Tell me about it," Christian mutters under his breath. "Jack," he says, tone growing serious again. "I have one request, whether you're talking to me, or about me to someone else."  
  
"Anything," Jack says. "Tell me."  
  
"Don't ever call me boy."  
  
There's a hint of a threat in his voice.  
  
"I..." Jack is a bit taken aback at the tone. He wonders if Christian's forgotten that they already went over this. "I won't," he says. "If you remember, it reminds me a little too much of my nephew. Not that I call him that, either. It's just... uncomfortable."  
  
"I know, it's just..." he wraps an arm across his ribs again. "I just need to be very clear about it."  
  
"Understood," Jack replies. "I actually think that's why boyfriend feels odd, now you mention it."  
  
Christian nods to himself. "Maybe." He pulls one knee up so his foot rests on the seat. "We can always worry about it another time."  
  
"But you know I would never call you... that." He doesn't even think he should say it, not with the tone Christian used. "So, any more news? Or should I be afraid to ask?"  
  
"I don't know. Is there anything you'd like to hear about?"  
  
"You, in general," Jack says, smiling into the phone.  
  
A slow smile spreads across Christian's face. "And in specific?"  
  
"How you really are. I know that's probably difficult, though," Jack murmurs.  
  
"I'm really... not sure yet."  
  
"I know. Believe me," he says. "I know."  
  
"Yeah," he whispers with a sigh.  
  
"It's worth it," Jack says. "For what we will have. But yeah..."  
  
"I hope so," he says in that same quiet voice.  
  
"It is, or I wouldn't be here," Jack replies. "If I didn't think you were worth it, why would I stay?" This he's on firmer ground about. The only thing he does know right now is his own mind and heart.  
  
Christian hears Faith's chuckle in the back of his mind, and it's a warning. "Yellow," he whispers as his hands start to ball into fists.  
  
"Change of subject?" Jack asks. "Or quiet?"  
  
"Change," he whispers.  
  
"Would it be too... anything if I were to ask how you actually do feel about me?" Jack asks.  
  
Christian's eyes are screwed up tight. He nods. "Yes," he hisses against the back of his hand, and starts to rock back and forth.  
  
"God, I'm sorry," Jack says. He berates himself for thinking only of how he feels. Everything he thinks of to say is wrong. "Sometimes I wonder how you're even managing to put up with me," he says. "Keep putting my foot in it."  
  
Christian gives a shaky laugh. "Not your fault," he reassures Jack. "There are landmines everywhere."  
  
"I know, but I could refrain from doing the Pride Of Erin on them," Jack replies.  
  
He snickers. "Nice mental image there, Jack." His voice is still quiet, but sounds more relaxed than it did a moment ago.  
  
"I'm a terrible dancer, too," Jack says, enjoying this moment of lightness. He's just trying to step around the mines for now.  
  
His own laugh surprises Christian, and he covers his mouth with one hand to hold it back. "Well, I could always teach you," he smiles. He leans back on the sofa. "I have moves."  
  
"I'd like that," Jack says. "Can't promise I'll ever be any good, of course."  
  
"That's fine. One of us will be," he says without modesty.  
  
"Indeed?" Jack raises an eyebrow. "This is good."  
  
"Rent Swing Kids. Or Newsies, if you can find it."  
  
"I will," Jack says. "If I can." He's sure he has contacts somewhere. "Can't say I've ever found them so far. I did see Batman, though, and a few others over the years."  
  
"Batman was -" his mind flashes to an image of Cillian mid-orgasm in the Batmobile, "a good shoot. American Psycho was strange, mainly because of all the press." He's at ease now, talking about his other job, something completely unrelated to Citadel.  
  
"I can imagine, you got the "what was it like to play such an evil/sick/whatever bastard" questions, I guess? I remember the same thing happening to Matt," Jack says. "And I did see that one. Kind of got dragged to it. A... good friend of mine is a friend of Willem Dafoe's."  
  
"Oh?" He wants to ask how good a friend Willem is, but he's afraid to.  
  
"Well, she's more a friend of a friend of his," Jack says. "Complicated." He doesn't want to get into Juli right now. He can see that land mine a mile off. "I've only met Willem a couple of times. Seems a good guy, but intense."  
  
"He can be," Christian agrees. "We didn't really see much of each other unless we were actually filming."  
  
"Sometimes it's like that, isn't it?" Jack settles back. "Or at least, I remember it that way. Sometimes people are very close to you, and sometimes it is just work." He doesn't even realise how wistful he sounds, talking about acting.  
  
Christian smiles a bit. "Yeah. Cillian and I got along well... But there was a lot of laughter among the Brits, that we were taking over something as American as Batman."  
  
"I can see you having fun with that," Jack agrees. "Not the first person I'd have thought of, really. Then again, casting was never my strong suit."  
  
He nods. "I wouldn't have been their first choice either, if George hadn't fought so hard to get me the role."  
  
Christian sighs. "I... probably should go..."  
  
"If you have to," Jack replies, not wanting to let him go. "Can I call again, soon?"  
  
"Tuesday?" he suggests.  
  
He'd like to suggest sooner, but that's not his choice. "Morning, noon, evening?"  
  
"Evening, if that's fine for you."  
  
"Evening is good," Jack says. Of course, morning or noon would be if they were what Christian had said.  
  
"Okay." He takes a breath. "Well."  
  
"Well," Jack says. He doesn't want to hang up. He feels like a teenaged girl. "Is this ridiculous?" he asks.  
  
Christian laughs. "Just a little, yeah." He rubs the back of his hand across his nose. "I'll talk to you Tuesday night, Jack."  
  
"Tuesday night," he says. "Goodnight, Christian." He doesn't want to, but he hits the off button on his phone.  
  
Christian hits End once he hears the dialtone. He holds the phone in both hands for a moment, then goes back to his Master.

  


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	11. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Light at the end of the tunnel...

| **I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Light at the end of the tunnel...** |  [[entries](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/)|[archive](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/calendar)|[friends](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/friends)|[userinfo](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/profile)]  
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|  Light at the end of the tunnel... | [Dec. 20th, 2005| **08:38 pm** ]  
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December 20th, evening, London - Citadel Mews: Jack calls Christian  
  
  
Jack dials Liam's number, anticipation warring with the memories of the last time. It doesn't matter, he keeps telling himself. There's going to be a lot of land mines before they get through this and it's not at all a good idea to move back at the first rumblings, tempting as it is on one level. So he gets a drink and calls and hopes this time will be slightly less fraught. That's not too unrealistic, he hopes.  
  
Liam picks up the receiver. "Hello?"   
  
"Liam, it's Jack. I'd like to speak to Christian, if he's up to it," he says.  
  
There's a quiet chuckle from the other end of the line. "Just a moment." The phone is muffled for a few seconds, and then   
  
"Jack?"  
  
"How are you?" is the only think he can think of to say.  
  
Christian takes a deep breath, and smiles nervously. He starts toward the stairs. "A little better, I think. How are you?"  
  
"Okay. Wishing the holidays weren't upon us so I could continue to hole up." He wasn't planning to say that, but for some reason it came out anyway.  
  
"I agree completely." He walks upstairs and to his bedroom. Fleetingly, he wishes he could close the door, but if he's honest with himself, he's thankful he's not allowed.   
  
He pads over to the bed and sits down on the edge. "Any plans?"  
  
"Nothing social and I don't care if it's expected of me," Jack says, just slightly bitter. "I am so not up for that right now. I'm going to have my secretary make some excuse, whatever she thinks best. I guess my nephew will come to the Hall, and Mother will be there. I also have things I have to do as the head of the estate, Christmas bonuses and the staff party, though that will just be an appearance."  
  
Taken slightly aback by Jack's tone, Christian shifts a bit on the bed, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under his head. "Not feeling festive?"  
  
"Not really, no," Jack says. "It's... not just recent events, for the record. There's a lot of bad stuff associated with this time of year for me, and most of it happened before you came along."  
  
"Want to talk about it?" Christian offers.  
  
Jack smiles, it feels like the first time in days. "I think I might," he says, softly. "Give me a moment, to collect my thoughts."  
  
"Take your time," Christian replies, getting comfortable by pulling the blankets up into a nest. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll just lie here and listen to you breathe."  
  
He almost asks if Christian would like him to breath heavy but catches himself. This feels... familiar. In a good way. Like they had been when they'd just talked, before. "It's not really Christmas, it's January," he says, quietly. "But it's all the anticipation, and even though it's Christmas, it feels like it's building up to something else. It's the anniversary of the day my life changed forever."  
  
"What happened?" Christian asks softly. Curled up on his side, wrapped up in blankets and arms around two pillows, he almost feels like Jack's here with him, even though they've never had the chance yet to hold each other like this.  
  
"My father and brother died," Jack whispers. He knows Christian knows this, but he can't find any other words. "And my life became something totally different." He settles onto the couch, lying down. He almost feels like Christian is holding him, fanciful as that is.  
  
"I'm sorry." The words are barely audible over the phone.  
  
"Thank you," Jack says, automatically. "It's just... I don't think it's ever not going to hurt. Even given the things I found out after..." he sighs. "It doesn't matter. It's never going to be the same again."  
  
"Everything changes," Christian empathizes. "One minute your world is normal, and the next, everything's backwards and upside-down."   
  
"Yes," Jack says. "And some days it feels like it'll never right itself again. Then there are the other days, the ones where it feels like maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel."  
  
"Yeah," Christian breathes. It had felt like that when he saw the photo of Faith and his father, again when he woke up in the parking lot. "You're a light. For me, at least," he whispers.  
  
"As you are for me," Jack says, just as softly. "I'm here, Christian, always. For as long as you need me."  
  
Heart in his throat and pounding wildly, he replies "So... you don't have plans for the next decade or two?"  
  
"Nothing that can't be worked around," Jack says, tone completely serious. "Maybe longer."  
  
"Glad to hear it." And he is; he's also nervous as all hell and terrified that he's going to move too fast for one of them, even if he's not sure which one.  
  
"Like I said, wouldn't still be here if I didn't want to be," Jack says, tone gentle. "I guess you need to know that you're not the only one with issues. I know yours are... important, but..." he hopes this is okay for him to say. "We all have our demons."  
  
Christian nods into his pillow. "I've never expected you to be perfect, Jack." He pulls the blanket up a little tighter.  
  
"I did," Jack replies. "Even before... I expected it of myself all my life."  
  
The corner of Christian's mouth turns up. "Me too."  
  
"It's... difficult not to, isn't it?" Jack says. "If it wasn't my parents, it was a teacher, or Michael, or later a director. And now, I guess it's just me, but the voices are strong."  
  
"I know the feeling," he sighs. "First the directors, then my father, Faith, even to some extent George... I know he doesn't really expect perfection, but once he makes up his mind about something he expects the world to go along with him." He scratches the edge of his nose. "Some days, I'm just not up to the challenge."  
  
"I know that feeling," Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we can lessen the impulse in each other a little. I hope so."  
  
"That, or we're going to have a very tense household..." Christian frowns, and nips once on his thumbnail before yanking the offending digit out of his mouth. "I hope I'm not being too presumptuous."  
  
Jack takes a moment to answer, the rightness of what Christian said a little too much. "I don't think it will be boring, to say the least," he smiles broadly.  
  
Christian exhales in a shaky laugh. "I could do with a little boring, actually."  
  
"It has its moments," Jack agrees.   
  
"I think that's part of why I work at the club, instead of going the full-time celebrity route. That, and the lack of publicity among club managers."  
  
"I can see the attraction," Jack nods. "Not that I would have minded a chance to see what the full-time celebrity thing was like, more than I did. But I think I would have ended up pulling back a little. God knows I do with the public face of being an Earl."  
  
"What's that like?" They've never really discussed this side of Jack's life, and he's curious.  
  
"Some of it's incredibly boring and superficial," Jack says. "That's the part I keep to the absolute minimum. Some of it's actually incredibly interesting, and some of it's like everyday work, which tends to the boring. But the public stuff usually fits into the superficiality, unfortunately."  
  
"It usually does," Christian agrees.  
  
"Sadly. Opening village fetes and kissing babies. I feel like a bloody American politician some of the time. Which I really do not want to feel like," he chuckles  
  
Christian smothers a laugh in his pillow at the thought of Jack kissing babies. "I just can't.. I can't picture you doing that," he snickers.  
  
"I'll show you the proof one day," Jack laughs with him. "It was quite the experience."  
  
"My poor Jack," Christian grins, and then it fades as he thinks about what he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get possessive."  
  
"I didn't mind at all," Jack answers. "Not a bit..." he's surprised at himself but god, that felt so right. "Yours," he whispers. "I want to be..."  
  
"Me too," Christian says softly. "I just... I don't know how stable a place that is yet."  
  
"I know," Jack says, coming out of that space a little. "I just... think we found a button. A good one, for later. A tricky one for now."  
  
Christian blinks. "I... Oh. Okay." He grins, and snuggles deeper into his blankets. "We can remember that."  
  
"We definitely can," Jack nods, unsurprised to notice the flash of arousal that spikes when he thinks of that time. "I'm glad you... didn't run off."  
  
"No," Christian says, shaking his head. "Like I said... I think I'm getting a little better. Of course, that could all change when I see you in person," he warns. He doesn't want to set Jack up for a fall, when they do finally see each other in the flesh again.  
  
"I know," Jack replies. "There's a distance that might add to that feeling. I'm not getting my hopes up, but I'm going to be cautiously optimistic."  
  
"Cautiously optimistic is good." He rolls onto his other side to give his shoulder a rest. It's healed, for the most part, but he doesn't want to stress it by lying on it for too long.  
  
"Would I be tilting at anything to ask how you're doing physically?" Jack asks, biting his lip.  
  
"Things are healing." Christian rolls onto his back, knees up. "My shoulder aches if I lay on it too long, but other than that it seems fine." He switches the phone to his left hand, and tucks his right hand under his head.  
  
"That's good," Jack replies. "I worry about you, you know."  
  
He tries not to think about why. "Liam's taking good care of me." He toys with the lock on the back of his collar.   
  
"That's one thing I'm sure of," Jack says. He's still not sure he gets it all, but he knows Christian trusts Liam, and that that trust won't be misplaced.  
  
"The collar helps. I don't think I'd always want to wear one... no, I know I wouldn't always want to wear one, but right now... it helps. I'm not sure how we're going to go through the airport with it though," Christian says with a concerned frown. "We're supposed to go to Ireland for Christmas."  
  
"I can understand how it would help," Jack says. "Ireland? That should be interesting."  
  
Christian shakes his head. "Any other time... or with other company..." He sighs. "I miss your smile."  
  
"You do?" Jack can't help but smile at that. "I miss you."  
  
The sentiment makes Christian blush. At times he feels new to everything, and suspects the collar causes it. He hasn't been a blushing virgin in... well... over a decade, at least, but hearing Jack's voice gives him goosebumps. Good goosebumps. Christian chuckles, a little breathlessly. "God."  
  
"What?" Jack asks, laughing with him. "Did I say something especially funny? If I did, tell me, so I can remember it?"  
  
"Nothing. Just... feeling flush." He kicks off the blankets and rolls off the bed. "Can I talk to you about… it?" He doesn't want to bring the conversation down, but he's pretty sure if he doesn't tell Jack his fears about what happened soon, he won't be able to.  
  
"You can talk to me about anything," Jack says, realizing that this is serious. He settles back and puts a cushion under his back. He has the feeling this won't be short.  
  
Christian takes a deep breath, and starts to pace. "Faith called that night. We argued, as usual, and... that's why I went out. I needed..." He runs a hand back through his hair, and then traces the edge of the collar around to the D-ring on the front. "I needed to get her voice out of my head." He tugs at the collar, finding strength in the solid feel of the leather.  
  
"That bitch," Jack says, a cold anger for the woman he's never met and never wants to settling in his stomach. "I don't use this word lightly, but I think I may hate her."  
  
"What happened... Jack, it's not her fault." He doesn't like defending Faith, but blame only goes so far. "She couldn't know what would happen. And even if she did know, she's not that..." Christian's mind supplies him with the photo of her and his father again, and he swallows. She _is_ that cold. "This isn't about her," he continues quietly.  
  
"I know, but that doesn't change how I feel," Jack says. "Go on, Christian. We could argue about this for hours and I don't want to. I'll put her out of the equation."  
  
Christian takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. In with the good air, out with the bad. "I don't play at work. It's just... a rule I have. Not a hard limit, but I couldn't make an appointment with Stuart, for example. It would just be... wrong. So I went to a bar. Picked up the first guy who showed an interest." His voice drops. "I'm sorry, Jack," he whispers.  
  
"I think I get it," Jack nods. "You don't eat where you work, so to speak." He sighs. "I kind of thought that was how it was, not really premeditated. It's okay. We hadn't made any promises beyond getting together when I got back, and I won't say I like that you did it, but I won't crucify you for it either."  
  
"Thanks." Christian sits down on the edge of the bed again, leather collar clutched in one hand, phone in the other. "I remember us going back to his place. I know I used my safeword." He moves back into his nest of pillows and blankets, and wraps himself up tight. "I don't remember after that."  
  
"I'm going to ask the obvious, how much did you have to drink?"  
  
"Not much. Not enough." After working in a club for so long, he knows his limits. "A single rum and coke, then a double. I should have been able to feel it, but I wouldn't have been any where near drunk enough not to remember."  
  
"Even I wouldn't be doing more than feeling the buzz on something like that. Have you considered that maybe you were drugged? I would guess you'd remember if you'd taken anything voluntarily..." Jack doesn't ask that question but he puts it out there.  
  
Christian shakes his head. "I don't do drugs, Jack. I don't even smoke cigarettes anymore." His hand moves constantly over the surface of the collar. "He might have put something in my drink. I don't know."  
  
"It must have been, or you would remember more. Fucker," Jack says. "God, Christian, if I could have prevented this..."  
  
"Don't, Jack. Don't beat yourself up over this. It wasn't your fault, and there was nothing you could have done."  
  
"I'll... I won't promise not to think that again," he says. "But I'll try not to. I just wish it had never happened at all, more than anything..."  
  
That forces a tense chuckle out of Christian. "Uh, yeah, you're not the only one."  
  
"Well, I knew that," Jack murmurs softly. "I just...feel really helpless sometimes."  
  
"I know," Christian says gently. "I do, Jack. I know." He rolls over to his left side, and switches ears. "I woke up in a parking lot across from the bar. He left me leaning against the side of my car." It hurts to think about, but he has to say it. "Him or someone else."  
  
"Well, whoever it was could have left you out in the cold, stranded, so that's something," Jack says. He's grateful beyond words that at least Christian was taken to his car.  
  
"Yeah," he sighs. "I need you to understand some things, Jack. I don't know... I don't know if it was just him or... more." He covers his eyes with one hand, brow furrowed, and continues on. "I faxed you the medical report, so you know... The doctor said there wasn't much semen, so there was probably a condom, but it broke."   
  
"I know," Jack says, quietly. "And yes, I'm scared for you. But... even if the unthinkable happens, I'm not going anywhere, Christian."  
  
Christian takes a shuddering breath. "It's not unthinkable, Jack. We have to... I have to think about it. I don't..." He sits up. He knows he wouldn't have the strength for this discussion in person, and only the safety and security of the collar is letting him do it at all. "I don't want you to feel stuck with me if... you know." He can't say it, not with the possibility so very real.  
  
"I don't feel stuck," Jack says. "I hope and pray that everything will be all right, but if it isn't, that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you. I won't, and I won't let you push me away."  
  
"Jesus, Jack... That's fine to say, but if it really happens, if it becomes my new reality, I'm not going to expect you to stay. There are things we'd..." He wraps his free arm around his knees. "We'd never get to do, and I don't want to deny you those things."   
  
"You wouldn't be denying me anything," Jack replies. "I don't want the sex or the kink if it's not with you." He's shocked that he said it.  
  
"Jack... _fuck_ ," he whispers, shaking his head. "You don't _know_ that." He wants to believe it, craves it almost as much as slave time, but they haven't seen each other in weeks. "For all you know I have a two inch dick and no skill whatsoever. Don't... don't pledge yourself to anything."  
  
"I know," Jack says, firmly. "I know, Christian. And it's not about how big your cock is or what you can and can't do. It's because it's you and I don't want anyone else if I can't have you. I just can't even imagine being with anyone who isn't you."  
  
Christian scrubs at his eyes. He doesn't understand why Jack's so determined, and is afraid to hope that any of it could be true. "Yellow," he whispers. He has to pull himself together, has to be able to breathe if he's going to be able to talk.  
  
"What do you need from me?" Jack asks immediately.  
  
"I don't know." Choking on the words, he's trembling and on the verge of panic. "Just a second." He drops the phone on the bed, and races to the bathroom. His hands scramble to turn the cold water on in the sink, and he immediately plunges them into the icy water, splashes water up onto his face. He does it again, and his heart rate starts to slow.   
  
_I don't want anyone else if I can't have you._ He looks up at himself in the mirror. Why the hell would Jack want him if not for the sex?   
  
Jack waits for Christian to return or for the phone to cut off, he's not sure which he expects.  
  
He lets the water run over his hands until they ache, and he has to pull them away. He can barely feel the towel as he dries them off, but they feel like perfection against his forehead and cheeks. Calm once more, he sits on the edge of the bed, and picks up the phone. Deep breath. In with the good air, out with the bad.   
  
"Jack?"  
  
"Still here," he says. "Not going anywhere." He thinks that's enough to say for now, so he falls silent for the moment.  
  
Christian nods. "That's what I don't understand," he admits quietly.  
  
"It's simple. I don't want to," Jack replies.  
  
"You barely know me," he whispers.  
  
"It doesn't seem to make a difference," Jack says, almost as quietly. "I just know what I want."  
  
He doesn't know what to say. Part of Christian longs to repeat it all back to Jack, make grand, fantastic promises for a wonderful future, but reality has really sucked lately, and he doesn't want to blow smoke up Jack's ass. Doesn't want to make promises he isn't one hundred percent sure he can follow through on.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers, settling for the simplest truth.  
  
"It would hurt me more to let you go," Jack replies, and he knows it's true. No matter how bad it gets with Christian, it would be and will be a million times worse without him.  
  
"Careful," Christian whispers. "Next thing you know, you'll be moving into The Mews and putting up a white picket fence."  
  
"If that's what you wanted, I would," Jack replies. "Though I'm not really into white picket fences."  
  
His laugh seems loud compared to their hushed conversation. "Me neither," he says. "I much prefer a good privacy fence and some hedges to hide it."  
  
"That sounds more like it," Jack nods. Hide from the world, and yes he knew that feeling so well.  
  
Christian curls up around a pillow again. "I wish... It's just too soon, Jack. I don't want us to make promises yet. You might not like who I am once I leave Liam's, take the collar off..."  
  
"I know, but I also know my own heart and mind," Jack replies, and he realizes he's still holding the drink he poured before calling. He takes a sip and rolls his head forward. "I'll tell you what, we'll revisit this when you're ready, but until things change, I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"  
  
"It's okay if you do, Jack," Christian whispers. "I won't be upset if you... fuck someone else." He doesn't want to think about Jack in another man's arms, but he gets nauseous thinking about sex at all these days, so he doesn't think it's much of an indication of how he feels. With the right person, he might get a kick out of watching Jack in action... but not yet.  
  
"Can't think of anyone I'd want to, and I mean that," Jack says. "If that changes.... I will let you know."  
  
It's the most he can comfortably hope for. "Thanks." Christian hugs the pillow tight to his chest for a moment, then relaxes. "I'd say the same, but I can't see me doing anything with anyone for quite some time yet."  
  
"I can understand that," Jack answers, deciding not to say that he'll wait, even though he knows he will.  
  
Christian closes his eyes. There's something comforting about listening to Jack breathe, although if he mentions it he's pretty sure he'll sound like a complete idiot. Jack never did pick him up a book on conquering social ineptness.  
  
"I wish I could sing," Jack breaks the silence, speaking quietly.  
  
"Why?" Christian whispers.  
  
"Then I could sing to you. I don't know why, I'd just like to. I don't mean on stage, just... like this. I know, it sounds a little weird."  
  
Christian laughs. He has to. It's good to know he's not the only one feeling the silence. " _I could say bella, bella_ ," he sings softly. He knows his voice isn't the greatest, but they let him sing on film, so it can't be that bad.  
  
"You sing, you dance, you act...." Jack smiles. "What next?"  
  
"I make a passable casserole." Christian thinks for a moment. "I can draw caricatures, but that's about it."  
  
"You can cook at all?" Jack laughs. "Seems like yet another talent I don't have."  
  
Christian snorts. "I said I make a passable casserole. One. And I'm terrified of altering anything in the recipe, so if you don't like it, you're shit out of luck."  
  
"Considering I can't even make toast without burning it, I'm impressed," Jack laughs. "Just never got around to learning that stuff."  
  
"We might starve." Christian bunches the pillow under his head so it's more comfortable. "We'll have to hire a cook."  
  
"Definitely," Jack nods. "I can get some recommendations."  
  
"I..." Christian stops. He's not saying _that_. "Thanks."  
  
"No problem," Jack replies. "I might as well use my resources. Seeing I can't cook."  
  
Christian smiles. "That's not what I meant... but okay."  
  
"What did you mean?" Jack asks, curious. He figures Christian can say if he doesn't want to say.  
  
"Thanks for... being here." He shakes his head. "Well, not _here_ here obviously, but _here_... did that make any sense at all?"  
  
"Yes, strangely enough, it did," Jack says. "I feel like you're here. And I didn't, before."  
  
"Before when?"  
  
"Last time we spoke," Jack admits. "I felt the distance. It doesn't feel that way this time."  
  
"I'm a little more... used to things now. I think. I feel like I'm on solid ground, at least." Christian isn't sure how to describe the effect of his time wearing the collar. "I feel... more free, in a way. Better, regardless."  
  
"And there's been a little time, it does always help," Jack says. "But I think I know what you mean."  
  
"Good." He sits up on the bed again with a sigh. "I should probably get back to it, though..."  
  
"It is getting late," Jack agrees. "Unfortunately."  
  
"Yeah," Christian sighs. "Call again before the new year? We'll only be gone a few days."  
  
"I will," Jack promises. "And I'll think of you. A lot."  
  
"I'll be thinking of you too," Christian returns softly.   
  
"Goodnight, Christian," Jack whispers.  
  
"Goodnight, Jack."  
  
Jack hangs up first this time, not upset like he was last time about it.  
  
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|  | cit_liam ([](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/profile)[ **cit_liam**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/) ) wrote,  
@ [2005](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2005/)-[12](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2005/12/)-[23](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2005/12/23/) 08:30:00   
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_**Holiday Travel [Liam, Christian]**_  
Liam checks his coat pocket one more time for their boarding cards -- luckily BA allows online check-in, which makes one less line he and Christian will have to stand in. They're all packed, one small carry-on each, so they won't have to check baggage; that leaves just the security line. A trip to the grocery store a few days earlier had proven that Christian's tolerance for crowds was still low and Liam's trying to plan things out in advance to shelter him from as much as possible.  
  
The Citadel car that'll take them to Heathrow is due in a few minutes and he's pretty sure they've got everything. He moves over next to Christian and lays a comforting hand between the lad's shoulderblades. "You have your ID, right?"  
  
Christian nods, and swallows against the collar just to feel the reassuring rub of the leather. "Yes, Master," he whispers softly. He pulls his arms behind his back to link his fingers, and to give him an excuse to press back slightly against Liam's hand. He's getting used to these small touches from Liam. The thought of someone brushing up against him in the airport, though, is making his heart race.  
  
"Good. We're ready to go, then. It'll be all right, I'll be with you." Liam just stands there in the entryway, letting Christian lean on him.  
  
A shudder moves through him from head to toe in a wave. He wants to stay home. Needs to. He doesn't want to embarass Liam in public, but he's convinced it's going to happen, whether he wants it to or not. At the same time, he can't ask Liam to stay away from his family at Christmas, and he can't stay here alone. The conflict is tearing him apart, but he can't put voice to any of it.  
  
Liam feels a tense trembling move through Christian's body and he leans forward just a little. "I know, lad," he murmurs softly. "I'm sorry, if it could be helped we wouldn't be doing this."  
  
Christian nods once, tears prickling behind his eyes. He won't cry, not before they've even left the house.  
  
They stand for another long minute, just touching, then Liam sees a car pull up out front. "Our ride is here. Time to go." He moves his hand up to Christian's shoulder and gives it a squeeze, then picks up his laptop case. "You get the bags and I'll lock up."  
  
He has to take three deep breaths before he can force his feet to move. Christian grabs their bags, then opens the door and goes outside. Even here, on the front stoop, he feels exposed, and he doesn't like it. He tries to take a step toward the car, but can't.  
  
Liam steps outside and locks the door, then puts his hand back onto Christian's shoulder and urges him to the car, slowly, one step at a time. The driver takes the bags and Liam concentrates on getting Christian into the back seat and settled. He sits right up beside him, with his arm resting on the back of the seat behind the lad, giving him the option of pressing closer if he wants to.  
  
Thankful that he's in the back seat and not the front, Christian closes his eyes. He shifts a bit so that his sweater pulls his collar snug across his Adam's apple, and tilts his head back until he can feel Liam's arm. Closing his eyes makes it easier to focus on his Master, his scent, the sound of his breathing, and easier to block out the fact that he's trapped in a car with a stranger behind the wheel.  
  
After double-checking that the driver knows which terminal they're going to, Liam presses the button to raise the barrier between the front and back seats, giving them some privacy. "There," he whispers. "Now it's just us, all the way to the terminal. Try to relax as well as you can. I know it's hard, but try."  
  
Out in public. The anxiety is almost as bad as it had been during the promotions for Empire of the Sun, or worse, but in a different way. Then, at least, he had been young, new; now, he shouldn't need the reassurance of being held, but he does need it, so he allows himself to take it, just this once, he tells himself. Without opening his eyes, he curls up to Liam's side, tucking himself under his Master's arm.  
  
Christian's warm weight against him brings Liam's arms reflexively around him. One hand cups the back of the lad's head, surrounding his face so all he'll see if he opens his eyes is the warm brown of Liam's jumper sleeve. He rocks him very slightly and very slowly, just enough to feel, barely more than the sway of the car's motion.  
  
He allows the movement of the vehicle and the rhythm of Liam's rocking to soothe him, tries to soak up and memorize the feeling for later. Christian circles first one cuff, and then the other, with his hands, and rubs the leather hard against his skin. He's still not comfortable telling Liam when something feels good. He settles for something non-verbal, and the most daring physical gesture he's made toward his Master yet: he tilts his head up a little, and places a thankful kiss on Liam's sleeve.  
  
The barely-felt kiss makes Liam smile. Slight as the gesture is, it's a major milestone and he knows it. Maybe something good will come of this trip after all.  
  
  
  
Liam isn't sure whether to curse or bless the holiday traffic. On the one hand, the drive to Heathrow was longer and slower than at any other time of year. On the other hand, the car's the last haven of quiet and privacy they have until they get to the hotel in Ballymena and for Christian's sake he almost wishes they could've driven the entire way. But finally, after nearly twenty minutes of stop-start-stop on the approach, the driver pulls up in front of Terminal One and stops. Liam tightens his arms around Christian, brushing a hand through his hair, and whispers, "We're here, lad. Time to get out."  
  
Christian is floating in warmth; the slight chafe of the cuffs and collar are reassuring in their familiarity. Strong arms wrapped around him, feeling his Master breathing in and out, all of it has worked together to lull him into a state of calm he couldn't have imagined when they first left the house. He moves sluggishly, but willingly, at his Master's command.  
  
Liam slides out first, then hands Christian out, keeping his body between Christian and the streaming crowds. The driver brings their bags out of the boot. He tips him, then slings his laptop bag over his shoulder and picks up his suitcase with that arm, keeping the other free to go around Christian's shoulders. He has the lad pick up his own bag with his other hand, then guides him into the terminal. Seeing the enormous line snaking away from check-in, and the other line nearly as long where baggage is checked, he's glad they don't have to stand in either one.  
  
His Master's arm around him is comforting, but the cacophony of the airport slowly starts to wear away Christian's calm. A child's cry makes his shoulders tense, and the father's loud, angry response makes him shiver and press closer to Liam's side.  
  
"Easy, lad," Liam murmurs. "I'm here. Just focus on me." They queue up at the end of the security line and put down the suitcases. Liam turns Christian so they're facing each other and pulls him against his chest, both arms securely around him. When the line moves forward, he walks the lad backward to close the gap, pushing their bags along with his feet.  
  
The illusion of privacy is a blessing. Liam's arms muffle the sound, and his jumper dims the harsh flourescent lighting. Christian raises his arms, and wraps them loosely around Liam's waist. He feels a beltloop under his left hand, and grips it tight.  
  
So far, so good. So long as they can stay close, the lad should be all right. The security station is coming up, though, and it's going to be the hardest part. When they reach the tables with the bins, just before the conveyer belt into the X-ray machine, he gives Christian a squeeze and says, "All right, here we go." He lifts the two suitcases up onto the table, then reaches down and unbuckles the cuffs from Christian's wrists. He tucks them into a zipper compartment in his laptop case, along with his watch, change and belt. The laptop comes out and goes into a bin by itself and follows the two bags. Before stowing his keys in the laptop case, he unlocks the lad's collar, but he leaves it on for now. One more minute....  
  
"I'm going to take your collar off right before you go through the arch," he whispers. "You'll walk through first. You've nothing that should set it off, so just go through and wait for me. I'll put your collar into the bag here," he pauses to tap the laptop case, "and then I'll follow you. I'll be right here. As soon as the bags come through, your collar will go back on. It has to come off but only for a minute. You just walk through, then turn around and keep your eyes on me until I follow you. All right?"  
  
Christian looks up at Liam, eyes wide. "What?" he whispers, although it takes him two tries to put any volume at all behind the word. He shakes his head. "Don't take my collar. Please."  
  
"Lad, I have to." Liam keeps his voice low but intense, holding Christian's gaze. He _has_ to understand this. "If you go through the metal detector with it, it'll set it off and they'll pull you aside and go over you with a wand. They won't let me be with you for that, so you'll have a stranger with his hands on you while I'm somewhere else. Your collar will only be off for a minute, lad. I'm sorry, but you'll have to bear it."  
  
He shakes his head again, more determined in his pleading. He grabs a fistful of Liam's jumper. "Please, don't take my collar." He's trying to stay quiet, trying not to humiliate his Master, but he can't let go of the collar. "Please?" he whispers. "Master already took the cuffs."  
  
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.... The line is edging closer to the arch, they have only a few moments to get this settled. No time to do this the way he'd like to. Hell, the way he'd like to isn't an option even if they did have more time; he'd never put the lad through this at all if they had any other choice. But they don't and that's that. He stands up a bit straighter and looks down at Christian, his face stern and his voice still low but hard. "I'm going to take your collar off now and you _will_ behave. You're going to walk through that arch and you're not going to shame me. You're going to stand calmly until I can join you and put your collar back on. Do you understand?"  
  
As his Master's hands move toward his collar, the bottom drops out of Christian's world. Time seems to slow, every detail seems magnified -- the voices of the other people in line, the blue of his Master's eyes -- everything is exaggerated out of proportion. His heart races, his mouth goes dry between one breath and the next, and he feels hollowed out, empty, useless. He turns because it was his last command from his Master ( _not your Master any longer,_ a vile voice whispers in the back of his mind). He walks to the arch, moves on automatic when the security guard tells him to step through, and waits on unsteady legs for the man he thought he could trust to come through as well, too shocked even to cry. His expression is blank, his eyes, lost.  
  
Liam stuffs the collar into his laptop case and shoves it as close to the machine as he can before turning to the arch and waiting. It seems an eternity before the attendant waves him through. He takes the longest three steps of his life, half expecting it to go off -- triggering on something, anything, the iron in his blood -- and someone to draw him away setting off some unimaginable crisis. The entire disaster has time to flash through his mind and then he's through. He loops both arms around Christian, ignoring the stares, and waits for their bags to come through. Suitcase, suitcase, bin with laptop... and finally the case. He reaches into it right there, ignoring the uniform's orders to move on down the line before picking up his belongings, and snags the collar out of its pocket. Right there he puts it back around Christian's throat and snaps the lock shut; there could've been a whole crowd of paparazzi snapping photos and he wouldn't have given a damn.  
  
He's aware of Liam's arms around him, but he doesn't really _feel_ them, doesn't feel anything. He's shaking all over now, and it doesn't matter, none of it matters. When the arms leave him, they take the last piece of his soul. His eyes close, and he waits, although he doesn't know what for. He doesn't know anything anymore.  
  
The leather against his throat is electric. Every nerve springs screaming to life, goosebumps race across his skin, and his heart pounds so hard it almost hurts. The click of the lock echoes through him, he feels it in his bones. Christian can breathe again, and inhales in a desperate gasp. His knees are threatening to buckle by the time Liam settles the collar back into its proper place.  
  
"Easy, now, it's all over, come on...." Liam murmurs reassurance and comfort, keeping one arm around Christian while the other awkwardly shoves his laptop back into its case. "Here, you take this, we need to move." He hands Christian his bag, then grabs his own two and moves them down to one of the tables provided for air travellers to reassemble themselves after taking everything apart for security. He leaves his change and his keys in the laptop case for now, just replacing his belt and his watch. He checks the time; the Citadel car got them here in plenty of time, of course, and he decides to spend their remaining three-quarters of an hour before boarding somewhere relatively quiet. "Come on, lad, let's go settle."  
  
Christian allows Liam to guide him through the terminal. He has nowhere else to go, no other reason for being here, but he doesn't feel like he belongs either, doesn't feel wanted. He's a burden, a task Liam took on only because of their friendship, and he's convinced there's very little of that left anymore.  
  
Liam guides him to a pub, Wetherspoons from the name on the blue oval sign above the entrance. As the taller man steps forward, Christian stays still.  
  
Liam takes a couple of steps forward before realizing he's alone. He turns around and sees Christian just standing there, his face blank.  
  
"Christian? Come on, lad, let's go find a booth." He steps forward and cups the lad's face in his two hands. "Christian? Are you with me?"  
  
Christian blinks, and looks up at Liam, a small frown furrowing his brow. "I shouldn't be here," he says softly.  
  
"And where else would you be?" Liam asks, one eyebrow raised quizzically. He slides his hands down to the lad's shoulders and brushes the collar with his thumbs. "You're mine and you belong with me. I'm here, so you're here."  
  
He doesn't want to cry here, he won't. He takes a step back, shaking his head. "You don't want me here," he whispers, barely able to say the words. Saying it aloud makes it real, makes it true. Liam doesn't want him; Liam removed his collar, in public, for everyone to see, so everyone would know.  
  
Ah, Jaysus.... Liam steers them over to a corner near a pillar and backs Christian up against it, so his own body is between the lad and anyone who might be going by. He wraps one arm around his shoulders and cups the other one around the back of his head, leaning close so their foreheads touch. "Listen to me. Being a master is about responsibility. It's like having a child or a pet or a spouse. It's not all giving orders and being waited on and having someone about the place you can fuck whenever you want. It's about having another person in your care, someone who depends upon you for everything. It's a responsibility, and you can't just toss it aside when it's inconvenient.  
  
"Yes, it's difficult sometimes. It's a bother sometimes. It's stressful sometimes. But that's all part of it and you can't have the fun without the difficulties. Like anything else worth doing there are times when it's hard, but that's what makes it satisfying when you do it right." He tilts Christian's chin up with one finger, making him meet his eyes. "You're right, I'm not having a lot of fun right now. I know you're not either. But you're mine and I damn well take care of what's mine, even when it's not fun. I _will_ do right by you and you'll do right by me because we have a contract and we're tied together, over the rough as well as the smooth.  
  
"Now, if you absolutely can not do this, we'll turn round and go home, because you're my responsibility and I _will_ take care of you whether you want me to or not. That is _my_ choice, not yours, and I'll keep you as safe as I can even if I have to clout you over the head and drag you." Liam pauses and looks at him. "Now, are we going in to get a drink and some privacy until we board, or are we going home?"  
  
He can't hold the tears back, not when he's being forced to look up into Liam's determined gaze. "You took my collar off," he whispers, lower lip trembling. He wedges a hand up between their torsos. "You took my collar off, in public," he hisses as the first tear slips down his cheek, and he punches weakly at Liam's chest. "You took it away in public, you fucker." His voice breaks on the last word, and he falls forward against Liam's chest as his shoulders start to shake.  
  
"Christian...." Liam can't say another word, not right now, without his voice breaking. He lets Christian hit him, holding him loosely until he collapses against his chest, then gathering him close and rubbing his back. Finally he takes a breath and says, "I know, lad. I know. I'm sorry but I had to. I'll do anything I can to protect you, you know I will, but I can't fight airline security. I had to either take it off for a minute or let them take you away from me and search you by hand. If I made the wrong choice then I apologize, truly." He hugs him close and whispers, "You still belong to me, you know. Even without the collar. We have a contract. You were mine before I gave you the collar and you were mine while it was off. You're mine until I say you're not."  
  
He allows Liam to hold him while he speaks, but then pushes against his chest with both hands. "Cuff me," he demands between sniffles. He tilts his head, first one way, then the other, to wipe his eyes against his shoulders. As he does, he catches a glimpse of someone watching them. His posture stiffens, and he tries to pull back away from Liam, although he can't go far because of the way he's pinned against the pillar.  
  
Liam nods and murmurs, "Good lad," praising Christian for telling him what he needs, then bends down to get the cuffs out of the bag. He puts one and then the other around Christian's wrists, pulling his sleeves down to cover each one as it goes on. "There. Is that better?"  
  
The cuffs end their argument. As each one is pulled through its metal loops, fastened, and hidden, more of Christian's anger and hurt drains away, until he is an empty vessel, his Master's to fill and give form to and use. The security guards don't matter, the man watching them from a few businesses down doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except that he is his Master's slave again.  
  
He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and exhales slowly. He lowers his eyes respectfully. "Yes, thank you, Master," he whispers.  
  
"Excellent." Liam takes a deep breath of his own, very glad the crisis is past. He wasn't lying -- he was ready to turn round and go home and find some way to let his mam and Liza know he wouldn't be coming, if Christian just couldn't handle it. He's glad it didn't come to that, though. "So, we have about--" he glances at his watch, "--thirty-five minutes. Let's head in here and relax."  
  
He puts his arm around Christian's shoulders once more and guides him into Wetherspoon's. He finds an empty booth, lets Christian sit first and then slides in next to him, so the lad's between him and the wall.  
  
Christian sinks into the seat. He feels relaxed, despite the crowds, and terribly grateful. As his Master sits beside him, Christian places his hand on the seat between his thigh and Liam's.  
  
Liam casually covers Christian's hand with his own and presses down on it as a harassed-looking waitress bustles over. Liam leans forward while she takes their drink orders, making sure she doesn't get a clear view of Christian, then leans back once more when she vanishes into the milling crowd.  
  
Christian wiggles his hand free, and moves it to the top of Liam's thigh. He knows his Master is protecting and guarding him, and that it's a thankless and difficult job. He squeezes the muscle under his hand.  
  
Liam turns to Christian and smiles. "We'll sit just like this on the plane. You get the window seat and I'll be next to you. The hard part's over."  
  
Christian smiles shyly, but doesn't look up. He nods in reply to his Master's words, but his focus is on the leg beneath his hand, the warmth seeping up through the fabric from his Master's skin.  
  
The hand on his leg is firm but not clutching. Liam watches Christian for a few moments, long enough to make sure he's calm and relaxed. Deciding to leave well enough alone, he's content to just sit in comfortable silence until it's time to go board their plane.  


  


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|  | cit_liam ([](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/profile)[ **cit_liam**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/) ) wrote,  
@ [2005](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2005/)-[12](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2005/12/)-[24](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2005/12/24/) 12:23:00   
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_**Conversations [Liam, Christian]**_  
[Takes place the day after [Liam and Christian go to Ireland](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/6509.html).]  
  
  
Liam has been waiting in the coffee shop -- a touristy place where no one who'd carry tales to his da is likely to come -- for nearly fifteen minutes when his sister comes bustling in, shedding a jacket and scarf. He stands up and wraps her in a hug that lifts her off her feet. "Liza, it's good to see you." He gives her a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Liam, you great ox, put me down!" He releases her and as soon as she's steady on her feet she gives him a clout on the shoulder with her fist and then a hug and a kiss of her own.  
  
They separate and slide into the half-circle seat of the corner booth, exchanging greetings and ordering drinks and lunch. When the pleasantries are over with, Eliza takes a long look at him and says, "Have you been sick? You don't have anything... serious, do you?"  
  
"What? No!" He reaches over and clasps her hand in reassurance. "No, nothing like that at all. I get tested regularly and I'm always careful. I've just been tired lately. You ever have times when everything comes crashing down at once, like? Any one thing you could handle, but pile three or four and it's just exhausting."  
  
She nods. "Aye, I know what you mean. You need to take one thing at a time and just do what needs doing."  
  
Liam takes a sip of his stout and wishes for just a moment that it was whiskey. Three faces flash through his mind and he asks, "What if you don't know what needs doing?"  
  
She gives him a look from under her eyelashes. "Does that mean you don't know what to do, you don't know how to do it, or you don't know what to do first?"  
  
"Any? All?" He shakes his head and stares off across the room to where grey light is glowing through the front windows. "It's just bad timing is what it is. I can't do everything at once so I look at who needs me most. I know what's right but I just want to toss it all and...." He trails off and shrugs his shoulders. Liza's always been accepting of his preferences but has never wanted details. Not that his issues have anything to do with those kinds of details but he finds he's unwilling to talk to her about Chris. He still isn't sure where they stand or how he really feels or whether it's likely to last, nor does he want to try to explain all that to his little sister.  
  
Although that thought curls one corner of his mouth. His _little_ sister is fifty-one years old and one of his best friends besides, despite how rarely they see each other. Or perhaps because of it, but at any rate there are still things he won't tell her about just because she's his little sister. It makes no sense but there it is.  
  
Liza sighs. "If it were anyone else I'd say that what you have to do comes before what you want to do, and what you need to do for others comes before what you want to do for yourself. But you've always been one to take it too far -- remember my dance recital when I was nine?"  
  
Liam groans. "Not that again. I was eleven bleedin' years old!"  
  
"Exactly," says Liza, with all the determination of a sister who fully intends to rub in a past mistake. "Eleven-year-olds are supposed to be a tiny bit more selfish than that. They had to cut your shirt off!"  
  
"I know," Liam says, his voice long-suffering. "I was there, yeah?" He'd fallen out of a tree and sprained his wrist just a few minutes before the family was to leave to go to Eliza's dance recital. He'd known how much she'd been looking forward to having them all there to see her, so he'd ignored it and said nothing until the show was over. His mam had taken him to hospital but by then his arm had swollen so much his long-sleeved shirt wouldn't come off without being cut. He's long given up on ever hearing the end of that particular incident.  
  
"You were there but apparently not paying attention. You've done the same thing over and over all your life and I'm wondering if you're doing it again now."  
  
He shakes his head and says, "It's not about me. Or not all about me. There are other people involved with all of it, with everything. It's not a matter of just ignoring myself for someone else. It's deciding who gets... me, my attention, my help."  
  
"Well, why are you the only one who can help? What makes you responsible for both of these people?" Liza asks, in an annoyingly reasonable sounding voice.  
  
"All three," Liam mutters. "One is a prior obligation made weeks back, although only for a few days. Two is a friend who's been hurt and needs looking after. He's shy of strangers -- more than shy -- and I'm the only person he trusts to look after him right now. Three is... someone who wants very much to spend time with me. And I want very much to spend time with him."  
  
Eliza stares at him for a moment, her shrewd eyes calculating. "And... number three is someone special, yes? If he were just someone you played cards with twice a week, this wouldn't be a problem."  
  
Liam feels himself flushing and nods. She always was too bloody smart for his own good.  
  
"Liam!" Liza glares at him. "You're telling me that you actually _have_ someone special for the first time in... how long? Since my Terry was in nappies, at any rate, and you're turning your back on him?"  
  
"No!" Liam looks around and lowers his voice. "No, I'm not turning my back on him. I just can't give him all my attention right now. I wish I could, God knows, but I just can't."  
  
Liza opens her mouth to retort, but closes it when the waitress comes with her drink and Liam's refill. After the girl's moved away, she says, "If you were a lady's man and were 'looking after' one lady while another was interested in you, I'd say you were a great ass and deserved to have her toss you over. I don't imagine things are so different on your side of the tracks."  
  
"Well, yes. I mean, usually." Liam sighs and sips his beer. "I know any number of lads who'd have no problem with it, even if I _were--_ ahh, if the lad I'm looking after were my lover. Which he's not and never has been. But the other lad, the one I'm interested in, he does have a problem with it."  
  
"Well, of course he does! There's a difference between those friends of yours you mess about with and someone who actually cares." Liza sounds incredibly indignant on Chris's behalf without ever having met him or even hearing his name.  
  
"It's complicated," Liam says. He's aware of how lame that sounds, but he also knows that he'll never be able to explain to his sister what it's like -- in much of the gay community, among just as much of the kink crowd, or even just how he himself is. She's a good little straight woman who had a nice, monogamous nest until her husband passed. She'll never understand nor accept Liam's view of sex and he's not going to get into it.  
  
"Only because you're making it so," she says, sounding exasperated. "But you won't listen to me, you never do, so I'll say no more about that." She takes a sip of her own beer, then gives him a serious look. "I... I need to ask you a favor. I wouldn't, with all else you've going on, but it's important. And it's family, so it won't complicate things with your man any."  
  
"What?" Liam asks, feeling a flicker of alarm. "Did something happen?"  
  
Eliza shakes her head. "No one's hurt, nor anything like that. It's something else." She looks down and crumples up her napkin in both hands. "Sharon's grandson Denny -- he's seventeen now, you know? -- came to talk to me last month." She looks up at him. "He says he's gay."  
  
Liam's at once relieved and wincing. Their older sister Sharon shares their father's views about "poofs and pansy-boys." She'd married a man who agreed with her and had raised her children the same way. It was possible that Denny's parent -- he tries to remember which of Sharon's children that is, but since he's never met any of them he's always had a hard time keeping them straight -- that whichever one of them it is is different, more sympathetic, but if that were so then Liza wouldn't be looking so grim.  
  
"I take it he's having a hard time?" he asks.  
  
Liza rolls her eyes. "You could say so, aye. He's terrified to let his folks know, and I don't blame the lad. I gave him an ear and sympathy but I can't manage much else."  
  
Liam nods. "I can help with that. I've not been in touch with the gay community here for a long time, but I can poke around and send you some information to pass on to Denny." He raises an eyebrow at her. "You really need e-mail -- I've been saying so for years. I could send you a letter with links to web sites as well as names and numbers and addresses of local resources. He'll probably have to stick to what's online until he's eighteen, but that's not too far off, is it?"  
  
"All right, all right, I'll give in!" Liza sends him a saucy smile. "In fact, I already have." She pulls a pen out of her purse and scribbles on the napkin, after flattening it out as well as she can. "Here -- e-mail. My Allen's been nagging at me too, and he got me a computer for Christmas. He's spending Christmas with Jane's family in Sussex so he came over yesterday, brought the beast over and set it up and got me a mailbox and all."  
  
"Excellent!" Liam beams at her and leans over to give her a hug. "That means we can talk! So long as Da doesn't have your password he'll never know! If Mam gets e-mail too, that'd be just grand!" He takes the napkin, scribbles his own e-mail address on the bottom half, tears it off and hands it back to her. Then he folds the piece with her e-mail on it carefully and puts it into his pocket.  
  
"I'll persuade her. I'm sure she'll agree to learn if it means talking to you more than once a year." Her fond smile fades and she goes on to say, "But while that's helpful and all, it's not what I wanted to ask. I'd like you to speak to Denny while you're here. He needs to talk to someone, someone else like himself, you know? And I don't know anyone else and you're here and you won't be back for a year. Just a couple of hours -- he could come with Mam for lunch."  
  
Liam looks a her, then looks away, thinking. His instinct is to say yes, of course he'll speak with Denny. He knows exactly how the lad feels, being gay with a hostile family. But would agreeing be best for the lad? Sharon's not Da, and Denny's parents aren't Sharon. He doesn't know them, but he doesn't want to make a hash of things for the lad and he just might.  
  
He eventually shakes his head and says slowly, "No. I'm sorry, but I don't think that's a good idea."  
  
"William John!" Liza looks shocked and quickly shifts over to angry. "What d'you mean, 'No?!'"  
  
He holds up a hand to pause the tirade he knows is coming. "I don't know the lad's parents," he says, "but I know Sharon. If there's any chance -- any at all -- that she, or they, might accept how he is, it'll be lost if I'm in the picture. If she knows I've spoken to him -- hell, even if it's only in e-mail -- she'll be sure certain that I've 'corrupted' the lad or 'converted' him or some such rot. She'll never believe he came to it on his own if she could possibly blame me. It'd never be about Denny, it'd just be about me, another round of that same old fight. Every time she looked at him she'd see me and the boy'd never have a chance to be himself with her ever again. You know I'm right, Liza."  
  
He shakes his head. "I won't get involved until after he's told his parents, at least. Once he's come out to them on his own, then I'll talk to him. He can even come for a visit if he likes; I'd love to meet him. If you'll pass on some advice, though, tell him not to do anything until he's eighteen, or until he's done with school if that's later."  
  
Liza glares at him, but her ire slowly fades. "Bloody hell," she mutters. "Aye, you're right. Mind you, I don't think the lad has the chance of a lame canary in a cage full of cats of coming out of this safe in the bosom of his family. Not his close family at any rate."  
  
"Maybe not," he agrees. "But if there's any chance at all, he deserves to have it."  
  
The waitress comes back with their lunches, setting down plates and condiments and fussing about for a minute before finally leaving them.  
  
"So, tell me about the lad. What's he like?" Liam cuts his steak and takes a bite.  
  
Liza spreads mustard on her ham while saying, "He's a bright lad. He wants to study engineering at university -- I always forget what sort of engineering but he won a prize for a science project last year."  
  
Liam nods in approval. "He'll earn a good living at least, if he's any good at it."  
  
"I'm sure he will be. He's studying calculus already." She presents this as a miraculous achievement with a triumphant look before taking a forkful of her potatoes.  
  
Liam grins. "I'm sure he's a prodigy, then." Something occurs to him and he asks, "Does he even know I exist? I can't imagine Sharon ever mentioned me to her kids, much less her grandkids."  
  
Liza nods. "I told him he has a great-uncle, as well as why he's never heard of you before now." She frowns and adds, "He's really looking forward to meeting you. He's going to be terribly disappointed."  
  
"I'm sorry, dear heart. I truly am. Tell him I'm looking forward to meeting him too, all right? But explain why it can't be now. If he doesn't understand then I'll just have to hope he does some day."  
  
"I'll tell him why. It's hard, but I agree with you, now you've explained." She reaches over and lays a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "It'll work out, one way or another. You had no one and you've not turned out too badly. Even if they cast him off, Denny'll still have family."  
  
"I always had you and Mam, even if we've had to sneak about."  
  
"Well, he'll have me and Mam and you, so that's one better. And at least you won't have to sneak."  
  
"It's not so bad now, anyway," Liam agrees. "Here, perhaps -- I don't know. But he can come to London and it's like a different world. However it goes, he'll be all right." I'll see to it, he thinks, and does a quick mental overview of his finances. If the lad's parents do throw him out then he's likely to need some assistance with university. Not too much -- Liam had put himself through school and had studied harder than most of his classmates whose parents were paying, even if that'd meant their folks were taking out loans -- but he knows university fees are ludicrous now and he's ready to help out if needed.  
  
Not that it'll make up for losing most of his family, if that happens. But things'll work out for the lad one way or the other. Liam'll see to it.  
  
  
  
He can do this. He can. He's thirty-two years old, almost, and he can damned well stay in a hotel room on his own.  
  
No, he can't. He doesn't want to be alone, not now, not here, in this strange place.  
  
 _Yes,_ he _can._ Master is in the building right next door. He made sure the door was locked when he left, and the chain pulled across as well.  
  
It's too far, too far. Master won't come back. _He's leaving me here._  
  
Each direction Christian paces is a different conviction, a new arguement. He turns, and catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror.  
  
 _Christ, you're ugly._  
  
He hesitantly steps forward, closer to the reflection. _Ugly, fang-toothed, mud-coloured eyes, no lips to speak of... no wonder no one wants you._  
  
He shakes his head slowly. "I'm not," he whispers in the dim light from the sitting room.  
  
 _You are. Your hair's too long, shaggy. A chunky little monkey, you are, and about as bright._  
  
He turns away from the mirror, walks back into the main room. He glances at the phone, debates calling Jack.  
  
 _Jack doesn't want you._  
  
"Yes, he does."  
  
 _Then why hasn't he touched you? You haven't even kissed! He won't want you, not once he finds out what you're like._  
  
His fingers dance over his cuffs as he starts to pace again. "Jack knows. I told him. Jack likes it too." His voice is soft, not at all convincing, even to himself.  
  
 _He just wanted you to keep talking, so he could find out just what kind of freak you are. Or maybe he's a freak too._  
  
"Jack is not a freak!" Christian grabs the glass ashtray off the bureau, and runs to the bathroom. He slams open the door, bouncing it off the side of the tub. "He's not a freak!" he screams at the mirror, and throws the ashtray at his reflection in a lovely overhand pitch.  
  
Shattered glass flies everywhere. Half of the ashtray falls into the sink, and slides halfway up the curve of the basin before dropping back down to the center, over the drain. The other half ricochets off the back of the toilet to land beside the bath.  
  
Christian stands in silence in the center of the room. His broken reflection stares back at him, a jagged accusation.  
  
 _Violent, out of control freak._  
  
He shakes his head. "I'm not," he mouthes, but it feels like a lie, looks like a lie.  
  
 _What will your "Master" say to this mess, freak? You're an out of control disappointment. Even putting an animal collar on you isn't enough to keep you in line. You're worse than a beast._  
  
He shakes his head, mindless of the tears that have started to spill down over his cheeks.  
  
The phone rings, shocking him out of his stupor. He lunges toward the counter, grabs a mirror shard on his way to the floor, and tries to dig it under his cuff. He can't bear to see Master when he gets back, can't endure the quiet disappointment he knows he'll see in his Master's eyes.  
  
After the sixth ring, the telephone stops, and so does Christian's hand. He raises his head slowly.  
  
Silence. Blessed silence.  
  
The blossoming pain in his wrist makes him look down. Little drops of blood are forming on his index finger, and falling one after the other onto the floor. _Oh, Jesus fuck._ His eyes widen as he looks around the room. _I can't stay here._ He staggers to his feet, and grabs a facecloth to cover his hand as he turns the cold water on. He plunges his scraped wrist under the icy liquid, leather cuff and all, hoping he hasn't done as much damage as he could have. He can still feel his fingers, and the blood was dripping, not running, off of his finger, which has to be a good sign.  
  
Once he thinks he has all the blood washed out from under the cuff, he folds another facecloth in half, and stuffs it between the leather and his wrist. It's not a perfect bandage, but it'll do. He dries his hands off as best he can, grabs his jacket out of the closet, and after pulling the chain off the door, he leaves to search out his Master.  
  
  
  
"--Kadeen's little Evan drew this, isn't it lovely?"  
  
Liam and Liza have been sitting for a while since the waitress cleared their plates. They've switched from beer to coffee and Liza's filling Liam in on a year's worth of family doings. She's brought an assortment of essays, poems and drawings by his various great-nieces and -nephews, and Liam's dutifully admired them all. Some are even worth admiring, aside from their being the produce of his flesh and blood. This latest drawing is a quite recognizable pony, which is impressive since little Evan, the son of Liza's daughter Kadeen, is only four.  
  
"Very nice," he says. "Is this Evan's pony or did he make it up?"  
  
"It's the neighbors' pony," replies Liza. "Although he and Annie and Charlie have been nagging Kadeen and Davey for one and I have a feeling they're going to relent any time now."  
  
Liam's about to reply when he suddenly spots a very familiar figure hovering near the doorway, just inside the restaurant. A smiling hostess is headed in that direction and judging by the look of him, Christian's not going to enjoy talking with her. He says, "Hold on, I'll be right back," to Liza while he slides out of the booth and then quickly strides across the restaurant, determined to beat the hostess to his charge.  
  
It took him forever to open the door to come in, but now he's not even sure Liam's here. So many people.... A woman, staff by the uniform look of her clothing, is walking toward him, and he knows if he has to speak to her he'll fall apart like some lost child in a shop.  
  
He's so focused on her that he doesn't notice Liam until the taller man is almost right in front of him. "Master," he moans miserably, and lowers his head, two seconds from dropping to his knees, right there in public.  
  
"It's all right, lad, I'm here." Liam puts his arms around Christian and holds him close. He turns his head to the hostess and says, "Thanks, lass, he's with me." He gives her a reassuring smile before walking Christian over to one side where they can at least pretend to have a bit of privacy.  
  
"There, lad, it's fine now," he croons while pressing Christian tight against his chest. "You found me and I'm here. Tell me what happened, lad. What do you need?"  
  
He's shivering, and it takes him a try or two to say the word. "You." He raises his head to look up at his Master with bloodshot eyes. "Please, don't leave me," he begs in a whisper.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere, babe," Liam whispers back. "I'm right here. I told you, you're mine until I say you're not." He just stands there, up against the wall with his body between Christian and the rest of the world. It's a reprise of the scene at the airport the other day and he hopes it'll work out as well.  
  
"You won't... you...." He shakes his head. He lacks the words at this point to explain, so he pushes the sleeve of his jacket up, toward his elbow, and gently tugs the facecloth out from under the cuff. It's not red, but it's streaked with dried blood, and it pulls at the skin around the scratches and scrapes.  
  
"Don't leave me," he whispers again as he pulls the cloth out. "I'm scared."  
  
Liam winces at the sight of the blood, but it's clearly dried and the lad's in no danger -- no immediate physical danger at any rate. He pulls him close and brushes his cheek against the wild hair. "I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you, unless we go together. Don't be scared, lad. I'm here. I won't let anything hurt you."  
  
He clutches at his Master's cable-knit jumper. "I hurt me," Christian whimpers.  
  
"I know, babe. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm here now, though, and I'll look after you." Liam's mentally cursing himself for leaving the lad, but the alternative, bringing him along to have lunch with a stranger, and moreover a stranger who can't be asked to treat him like a slave and ignore him, had seemed the lesser of two evils at the time. He _could_ say a quick goodbye to Liza and leave now, but what the bloody hell is he going to do in two more days? He can't cancel on Mam, not when it's once a year and after coming all this way, but he can't imagine bringing Christian to meet her, either. Fuck.  
  
Christian presses his forehead against his Master's chest. He shouldn't be here, he knows, not like this, but he _needs_ his Master, and at his Master's side is where he belongs. Master can keep the voices at bay.  
  
"So, you're here now," Liam murmurs into Christian's hair. "Did you order room service? Or are you hungry?" His instinct is to take Christian right back over to the hotel and up to their room, but there's Liza... and he should give the lad the choice. Especially if the main problem was his own absence, Christian might be better now, or at least in a few moments, now that he's here. "If you're hungry, we can go back to the hotel and get you something to eat. Or if you want to, you could come meet my sister and eat here. You don't have to, though. If you want to leave, we can do that."  
  
The urge to go back to the hotel is strong, but the place is a mess, and he doesn't want Master to see it just yet. Not when Christian knows he's going to be angry. He shakes his head slowly. "I don't want Master to c-cut his time short with his sister."  
  
"It'll just be a few more minutes," Liam assures him. "She'll have to leave soon anyway. It's Christmas Eve and she has things to do with her kids and grandkids; she just steals away a bit of time for me each year, and that time is almost over." He presses a kiss into the lad's hair, then without letting him go he urges him into the restaurant, toward the back where Liza's still waiting at their table, sipping coffee and looking curious.  
  
As they approach, he catches her eye, and from his position above and a bit behind Christian's head, he gives her a sharp head-shake. Anyone with children to drag them to the cinema will recognize Christian and he doesn't want her commenting. She's a smart lass, she'll understand.  
  
"Liza, this is my friend Christian. He's staying with me for a while and decided to come join us. Christian, this is my sister, Liza Donelly."  
  
Liza, who'd apparently caught her brother's high sign and interpreted it correctly, gives Christian a smile and a nod. "It's good to meet you, Christian. I so seldom get to meet any of Liam's friends. Here, sit down and join us." She scoots down to the end of the curved bench seat, giving the two men the option of whom to put in the middle. Liam slides in next to her, then pats the seat next to him and nods to Christian.  
  
Christian nods politely, but doesn't speak. He sits where Master directs him to, and folds his hands in his lap. He stares silently at the table in front of him. Now that they're at the table, he remembers that he didn't fasten his jacket up completely. He can't remember, however, if Master adjusted the collar of his turtleneck so that the leather isn't visible.  
  
The waitress comes by, sets a mug in front of Christian and fills it with coffee. She tops off Liam and Liza's mugs, then asks if Christian would like a menu. Liam leans over and whispers, "If you're hungry, lad, go ahead and get something. It'll be easier to stay quiet if you're eating -- Liza and I'll chat and when you're done, we'll go."  
  
Christian nods, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. After barely a moment's glance, he orders shepherd's pie, and then falls silent again.  
  
Liam rests his hand on Christian's thigh under the cover of the table and turns back to his sister. "So are Kadeen and Davey going to be haunting the horse fairs this spring, then?"  
  
Liza blinks a couple of times, then catches on and nods. "Most likely. They've managed to stand firm when it was only the two oldest begging, but now that Evan has joined forces with his brother and sister I fear they're doomed. The neighbors' children are reasonably good about sharing, but there are five of _them_ and only two ponies, so add in Kadeen's three and there's quite a wait. If they squabble over taking turns they're not allowed to ride for a week but they've all gotten far better at pouting and glaring than is good for them."  
  
"Not at all surprising -- children are nasty little sods when they're thwarted, as I recall." Liam grins at his sister from over his coffee mug.  
  
Said sister glares right back. "And I can't even say you'll get yours some day when you have a few of your own, you evil boy! That's not at all sporting!"  
  
Liam throws back his head and laughs. "I'm sorry, but you've known for ages that's not likely so you can't accuse me of being underhanded about it at least."  
  
"Just you wait -- I'll descend upon you in London some time during the summer holidays with all of mine in tow. We'll see that you make up for all the uncling you've missed out on." Liza takes a sip of her own coffee with an enormously smug expression.  
  
"You wouldn't!" Liam sends her a mock glare, but inside he's aghast at the thought of trying to shepherd a gaggle of infants around the Mews house without having any of them catch sight of something they'd want to ask about. Quick, diversion.... "If you're serious I'd be delighted to meet them. Maybe we could rent a place on the shore somewhere? I've only two bedrooms but I'm sure we could find something suitable, if you're willing to weather Da's wrath...?" It started out as a sidestepping move, but as he speaks Liam finds he's actually enthusiastic about the idea. He's never met any of the second generation, much less the third, and he's discovered he wants to very badly.  
  
Christian doesn't respond to any of the chatter. He doesn't even feign interest. His eyes are on the table in front of him, and aside from his breathing, he's motionless.  
  
Liam and Liza move from one subject to another without trying to involve Christian in the conversation. During one lull between subjects, Liza glances over at him, then raises an eyebrow at Liam. He shakes his head and asks her how the shop she owns is doing. She frowns for a moment but follows his lead. A few minutes later the waitress returns with Christian's shepherd's pie and more coffee refills, then bustles off again.  
  
Christian eats a few mouthfuls, but then starts to pick at it, breaking small pieces off and eating them slowly. He ignored the waitress, and continues ignoring Liam and his sister. He doesn't look around the pub, either.  
  
Liza glances up at Christian another time or two and Liam gets a foreboding feeling in his gut. Sure enough, despite all his hints, she eventually pins her gaze on his charge and asks, "So, Christian, how do you like Ireland? Is this your first visit?"  
  
He places his cutlery diagonally on the edge of his plate. It's almost as though Christian didn't hear her, although he certainly must have, but he doesn't react to her presence at all, nor does he react to Liam's hand on his thigh.  
  
Liza opens her mouth again, but Liam reaches over and grips her wrist rather strongly. She turns a glare on him, but he just squeezes tighter and says, "I don't believe he's ever been here before, and all we've seen so far is the airport, the hotel and the road between here and Belfast. Hardly anything on which to judge. We might go walking a bit tomorrow, or perhaps drive out into the countryside -- the scenery's lovely and there are a few places I'd like to see again."  
  
His sister jerks her hand away. He lets her and shakes his head once more. She murmurs, "Well, I do hope you get to see _something_ before you leave. It'd be a shame otherwise," then gives up and turns the conversation back to family.  
  
Five minutes later she's gathering her things and pulling on her coat. Liam helps her on with it and wraps her scarf around her neck before giving her another huge hug. While she's squealing to be put down, he whispers into her ear, "Please don't mention Christian to anyone?"  
  
When he puts her down, she punches his shoulder out of habit, then says, "Of course not," and nods. She says, "Goodbye, it was lovely meeting you," to Christian, but doesn't wait for an answer before striding away.  
  
Liam looks down at the table where Christian's poking at his lunch with his fork. "Ready to go back, then? Or would you like to sit a while, now that it's just us?"  
  
Christian maintains his silence. He puts the fork down again, alongside the knife, and stands. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, but it's the only visible sign of emotion since they sat down.  
  
"All right, then, back it is." Liam picks up the check, puts his hand on Christian's back and guides him to the front of the restaurant where he pays the bill, then they head out and turn toward the hotel entrance. Liam steers them right to the lift; Christian's silence, even now that Liza is gone, worries him, and he's hoping that getting back to their room will help the lad relax a bit.  
  
The closer they get to the hotel room, the more rigidly Christian stands, until by the time the elevator doors open, he's starting to tremble. He doesn't step outside the lift.  
  
"Christian?" Liam pauses and leans against one side of the door to keep it from closing. "What's wrong, lad? Did you want to go somewhere else?"  
  
Christian feels empty, numb. This is worse than the airport, at least then he had felt angry, eventually. _Master will be so disappointed when he sees._  
  
 _Then Master shouldn't see. Not yet._  
  
Christian drops to his knees in front of Liam, and starts to reach up for the zip of his Master's trousers.  
  
"Christian... no, lad. Not here. Come on, up now." He tugs Christian gently to his feet. Something's obviously very wrong and it has something to do with the room, it must.  
  
The door's tried to close a couple of times already, so he pulls the lad out of the lift and around a corner to a niche where the ice and soda machines are. He backs him up against the wall and leans forward, his arms around him and head cradled against his chest. "What's wrong, lad? Why are you afraid to go back to the room? Tell me."  
  
It takes him a few tries to collect his thoughts enough to form a sentence from them. All the anxiety from the collar removal at the airport, being left alone while Liam met his sister, it's all in that room. "I m-made a m-mess," Christian whimpers.  
  
Liam begins to rock gently back and forth, one hand curled lightly in Christian's hair and the other rubbing slow circles on his back. "What sort of a mess, lad?"  
  
"Glass. Blood," he whispers.  
  
He raises his head, misery in his eyes. "I couldn't make the voices _stop,_ " he rasps.  
  
"Ahh, babe...." Liam tightens his arms and rubs his cheek into Christian's hair, wishing he could just press the lad completely inside his body and hold him safe from the world. Unfortunately most of the monsters are on the inside, not the outside. "I'm so sorry, I should've been here. I'm a lousy master and I'm sorry." Through the apology he continues rocking, trying to offer what comfort he can.  
  
Christian sinks into the embrace. James used to be the only person who held him without wanting something more. "I couldn't hurt them out," he says into Liam's chest.  
  
"No," Liam murmurs. "Hurting yourself doesn't get rid of them, babe. It just makes them laugh at you, nasty little shites that they are."  
  
"I just want them to stop. All of them." Christian slips his arms around Liam's waist, and holds on tight.  
  
"Only time will do that, lad. I wish I could fix it for you but I can't. All I can tell you is that they love attention -- if you listen to them they'll never go away. Ignore them, pretend you don't hear them, and eventually they'll get frustrated and leave." Liam knows it sounds ridiculous but it's what worked for him and it's the only advice he has to give. "Besides, they're fuckin' liars, they are. You've no call to be listening to them anyway." He kisses the lad's cheek and gives him another squeeze, then says, "How about we go clean up that mess, then?"  
  
Christian nods. He scuffs his feet reluctantly as they go down the hall.  
  
Liam keeps an arm around Christian as they walk, unlocking the door with one hand. He schools himself not to react when they walk into the room... and it's not bad. The bed's unmade but that's nothing. The rest of the room is neat, luggage stowed and clothes put away out of sight. Then he peers into the bathroom.  
  
Liam stares down at the shattered remains of the mirror and the ashtray, and the daft thought passes through his mind that if he'd gotten a non-smoking room, this might not've happened.  
  
Christian freezes in the doorway. "Don't touch the blood," he whispers. "Don't touch it."  
  
"I won't, babe. It's all right." Another touch, a hand brushing across Christian's shoulder to caress his collar. "Here, take the extra loo roll there and clean up the blood -- put the bits into the can and flush the paper -- and I'll pick up the clean pieces. We'll have it done in no time, and you can walk the can down to the chute in the hall so no one'll touch the bloody glass." Liam gives the lad an encouraging nod and kneels down to pick up glass over near the tub, leaving the area around the sink to Christian.  
  
He takes the extra roll, and kneels down beside the small puddle of blood. _My blood,_ he thinks, _is toxic. Poison. Vile, contaminated, infectious, unclean--_  
  
Christian grabs the nearest shard of glass, and starts jabbing at his wrist, trying again to get under the leather cuff that protects the most tender areas. He doesn't even realise it when he stops soaking up the blood, and starts adding to it.  
  
Liam lunges forward and grabs Christian from behind. He pushes his arms under the other man's and pulls them apart and back into a full Nelson, with his hands locked behind Christian's head. "Drop it," he orders, his voice harsh. "You are _not_ to hurt yourself. That is an order and your little voices can go fuck themselves if that's what they want, understand?"  
  
"Please," he whispers, twisting one way, and then the other, trying to get out of Liam's grip. "Please, please, please, can't anymore, please, can't, can't do it."  
  
Sod it all.... Liam stands up, taking Christian perforce with him, and marches him out of the bathroom. He sits on the bed, letting Christian out of the locked hold and pulls him down alongside. "Come here, lad," he says, his voice softer. "Lean on me." He pulls him close and wraps his arms around him. "Don't think about it, don't listen to it, just be with me."  
  
Christian is crying openly now, still pushing to get away, but not doing terribly well. "Can't, not anymore, can't, please, make it stop!" All fighting against Liam's strength has done is wear him out. His struggles grow progressively weaker as the minutes tick past.  
  
"You don't have to, lad. You don't have to do anything. Just relax, lean on me, I'm here and you're safe...." A quick look shows the fresh cuts are as superficial as the older ones so Liam ignores them for now and concentrates on the part of Christian that's really wounded.  
  
"Red," he gasps, pulling and pushing and twisting, anything, to get out of Liam's embrace. "Red, red, red."  
  
Liam lets go immediately, his arms springing back on reflex. He'll let Christian go but he keeps an eye on him, ready to dive in and ignore the damn safeword if the lad tries to hurt himself again.  
  
Christian practically falls off the bed. He's never used his safeword with Liam before, and he wasn't sure if it would work or not. He scrambles away from the larger man, into the corner of the room, pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them, and rocks, back and forth, back and forth. His sobs are painful to hear, a deep, heavy lament of a life that he hates right now more than anything.  
  
The sounds Christian's making grate on Liam like ground glass. He stands up and walks slowly across the room, then crosses his feet and lowers himself down into a crosslegged sit about an arm's length in front of him. He doesn't touch him, but he's nearby, aching for him, waiting.  
  
Christian strikes at the wall with his fists, shoulders, elbows -- not hard enough to damage the walls, but enough that he'll probably have more bruises to add to his collection in the morning.  
  
"Christian? Relax, lad. There's nothing and no one here but you and me. You're safe and you can let go. Please? Try to relax for me, can you do that?" Liam's aching to reach out and gather him into his arms, but he doesn't think that's a good idea right now, so he just sits and watches and talks, low and gentle and comforting.  
  
After a few more minutes, he starts to wind down. The rocking slows to just thumping his head against the wall every minute or so, and the crying softens to hitched breathing and fat tears that roll down his cheeks.  
  
"There you go, easy. Relax, babe." Liam's shoulders unkink just a bit when Christian slows down. He isn't sure what he'd have done if the lad had kept it up, or gotten more hysterical rather than less. He hopes he'll never have to figure that one out.  
  
Christian shakes his head, eyes clenched shut and teeth grinding. "Hate it," he coughs, a sob quickly following.  
  
"I know, babe. I do too. I wish I knew what to do for you, truly." He leans closer but doesn't touch.  
  
"Make it stop," he whimpers. "Make it stop." He turns his head to look at Liam, a picture of misery. "Please," he begs in a whisper, "make it all stop."  
  
"I wish I could, lad. Fuck, I wish I could." Liam reaches out and cups his palm over the air just above Christian's cheek, not quite touching. "I'd give my arm to chase all the demons away and that's the truth. But I'm here for you, lad. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I need you to tell me."  
  
Christian curls tighter into the corner, away from Liam's hand. "Can't do this. Can't. Hurts. 's too much," he whispers roughly. "Too much."  
  
Damn. The lad's sinking again, moving away and Liam has to get him back. He grits his teeth and makes a decision he hopes he's not going to regret.  
  
"Come here, lad. I'm here and I'm not leaving you." Liam shifts forward until he's sitting right up next to Christian and pulls the lad into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. "I'm with you, you're safe, relax...."  
  
Christian shakes his head, braces his hands against any part of Liam he can reach, and pushes. "Dirty, dirty," he whispers. "Filthy little fucker."  
  
Liam tightens his hold. "You are not dirty!" he says, his voice low but strong. "You're a lovely young man and a good friend -- there are a lot of us who care for you. I'd be very upset if you left me, Christian. It'd leave a ragged gap in my soul. Remember, lad, the voices are fuckin' liars. Don't listen to them. Don't." He rocks him gently, one hand rubbing up and down his back.  
  
"Fucking freak," he hisses. "Goddamned little cocksucker, worthless piece of shit." He continues to struggle, trying to worm his way out of Liam's grasp. "Stupid little prick."  
  
"No! You're a good man, you're _not_ worthless. You're mine, I accepted you -- do you think I'm that stupid, that I'd take a worthless freak under my protection?" He tightens his grip and keeps rocking him. "You're mine," he repeats. "You're mine and you're not worthless and I won't let them have you."  
  
"Made a mistake. Shouldn't have taken me." The words are whispered, but said with conviction. "Don't want me. Shouldn't be here."  
  
"I _do_ want you and you damn well belong here. I'm here, so you're here and that's that." He tilts Christian's chin up to face him. "You listen to _me,_ not them. You're mine, you _deserve_ to be mine, and I'm not letting you go."  
  
He tries to shake Liam's hand off. "Don't want me. Don't. No one does." His words slur a bit, most likely from emotional exhaustion at this point.  
  
Liam grabs his collar with one hand, four fingers pushed between collar and throat tightening it up enough for emphasis. "Mine," he growls. He reaches over and grips one wrist, squeezing the cuff hard, then tugs on both until Christian is kneeling with his palms on his thighs. "You're not allowed to hurt what's mine. You'd best remember that, lad. I take care of what's mine and I keep what's mine so you'd best become accustomed."  
  
Christian tries to pull away, but can't, Liam's strength and their positioning working against him. He whimpers plaintively.  
  
"You stay right there." Liam keeps pressing him down, not letting up a bit. "You're mine. Say it."  
  
He jerks back, trying to work against Liam's grip on the collar in order to get free, but it doesn't work. "No," Christian mouths, "No."  
  
"Yes. Say it. You're mine, lad. Say it."  
  
Christian shakes his head, squeezing his eyes closed, and clenching his jaw.  
  
"Say it. We're staying right here until you do. Look at me and say it, Christian." Liam still has his hand in Christian's collar and he uses it to tilt his head up.  
  
Christian remains mute for almost five minutes before he whispers "Yours." His eyes are still closed, and he only says it once.  
  
"Good lad. My good lad." Liam loosens his grip on the collar a bit and leans forward to kiss Christian on the forehead. "My good lad," he repeats. "We'll just stay here a while. Relax and breathe." He takes his other hand off Christian's wrist, leaving it flat on its thigh, along with its mate.  
  
A bit of the wall Christian has built around himself crumbles with the kiss. A minute or two later, he says it again. "Yours," he whispers.  
  
"That's right, mine. Good lad." Liam lets go the collar and sits back, watching but hopeful.  
  
Christian doesn't move, except to lean forward just slightly, following the warmth of Liam's skin. "Yours," he whispers again, and just barely opens his eyes. His fingers are relaxed now, not clenching his thighs as they were when Liam positioned his hands.  
  
"My good lad, so good for me...." Liam murmurs comforting nonsense, but inside he's tense. They've found a balance point but he's afraid to move and disturb the equilibrium. And the way Christian was for a bit there, and even earlier in the restaurant, looking back with twenty-twenty hindsight, he thinks Christian can well use some relaxation time. Liam's reasonably comfortable sitting on the carpet -- they'll just stay here for a while.  
  
He feels... peaceful. Like when Liam collared him, but not quite the same. It's like floating... almost. Christian doesn't understand it, but the more he thinks about it, the less he feels it, and he desperately wants to stay in the peaceful place. He reaches out for Liam's hand. "Please," he whispers. "Yours." He can't think of another way to describe it, or convey what he needs.  
  
Liam clasps Christian's hand and presses it to his chest. "Yes," he says. "Mine."  
  
Christian sighs heavily, but rather than a sound of despondence, it's a sound of contentment. He leans forward to press his forehead against Liam's chest. It's an awkward position, hard on the knees and lower back, but he doesn't notice or care. It puts him closer to his Master.  
  
When Christian relaxes against him, Liam presses a kiss into his hair and wraps an arm around his shoulders, brushing the collar with his thumb. "Relax, babe. You're mine and I've got you."  


  


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_**Merry Christmas, Rewind [Liam, Christian]**_  
Liam drifts awake the next morning with Christian curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, arm across his chest and morning erection pressing into his hip. He stares up at the plaster ceiling, a bemused smile on his face, and thinks, Well, at least you know he trusts you enough to relax, yeah?  
  
He scoots over a bit, up onto his side, just enough that he no longer feels the cock poking him but not so far away that the lad's hold on him is broken. No sense embarrassing him but no reason not to let him hang on, either, if he finds that comforting. He brushes one finger lightly across Christian's throat, back and forth, just above the collar. When he sees eyelashes fluttering he murmurs, "Merry Christmas, lad."  
  
Christian shudders as the tickling at his throat works it way down his spine. "Mmnm." He scoots closer, seeking out the warmth on Liam's side of the bed.  
  
So much for that strategy. Best of intentions and all.... Liam gives him a squeeze and considers getting up immediately -- he could get a shower, get dressed, give the lad time to do whatever he wants in privacy. Except he's fairly sure it'd be taken as rejection, abandonment, probably disgust. If there's any way to interpret other people's reactions to him in a negative light, Christian's sure to figure it out and do it. Not one of his more endearing traits, but it's one more thing to work on.  
  
For right now, Liam just succumbs to the inevitable and lets Christian cuddle.  
  
He wakes reluctantly; Christian would have been content to stay in warm arms, listen to the steady heartbeat of his friend, and call it Christmas. "Shhh," he whispers as he tightens his arm around Liam's waist. "I'm sleeping."  
  
Liam tries to stay quiet but his shoulders shake with silent laughter. "Sorry," he whispers. "Carry on." He gazes fondly down at the tousled dark head and gives him a light hug.  
  
Eyes still closed, the corner of his mouth twitches into half a smile. "As you wish, Master," he mumbles, and raises his head to place a kiss at the base of Liam's throat.  
  
The clock on the nightstand says there's no reason to dash out, and having Christian this relaxed and content is more than worth lying abed for a while. Liam settles down and just enjoys the peace and warmth. If he believed God answered prayers on Christmas he'd ask for the lad to be this calm and happy always. He knows better, though, so instead he just makes a private wish, along with the intention to do whatever he can to make it come true himself some day.  
  
As much as Christian doesn't want to get up, now that he's half-awake, there's a biological need that's demanding to be taken care of. "Don't move," he whispers, knowing full well if Liam wants to get up, there's nothing he can do about it. He turns over onto his back, stretches in an arch with his arms up above his head, and then continues on to roll up and sit on the edge of the bed. He stretches again after standing, up onto his toes, hands almost reaching the ceiling, stomach bared as his pyjama shirt rides up.  
  
Liam stays where he is, willing to let Christian make a dignified exit. The bed's comfortable enough and he lounges under the warm covers, one hand behind his head, watching the lad disappear into the bathroom. As soon as the door closes behind him, he reaches into his boxers to take care of his own situation, hoping the lad does the same while he has privacy.  
  
It isn't until he's in the bathroom that the memories from last night resurface, shame replacing the groggy contentment he'd been enjoying. He empties his bladder and tucks himself back in, studiously ignoring the area where the mirror used to be. He washes his hands quickly, and steps back into the bedroom. Concern over his Master cleaning up after his little fit is forgotten as he catches sight of Liam, one hand moving rhythmically under the covers.  
  
It takes a moment for Liam to notice he's got an audience and isn't _that_ lovely? Fuck. He stops and gives Christian a rueful smile, trying to ignore the blush heating his face, and when was the last time he was actually embarrassed to have someone see him with his hand on his cock? "Sorry, lad. I thought you were going to be showering and all." He rolls over to the edge of the bed and sits up, then stands and heads for the bathroom himself. He says, "Back in a minute," with a small smile as he passes Christian in the doorway.  
  
Arousal replaces shock, or joins it -- Christian isn't sure which -- but one sensation or the other leaves him breathless for a moment. He's spellbound, can almost feel that large hand on his own cock. He blinks and turns sideways out of the way when Liam passes him, swallowing as he tries to remember when Liam got out of bed.  
  
"I could...." He swallows again, hands tightening into fists at his sides. "I could take care of that for you. Master," he adds softly.  
  
Liam pauses and looks back a moment. "No, thanks, lad. That's not what our contract's about and I won't go muddying it up." He gives Christian's shoulder a squeeze, then closes the door behind him quietly but firmly.  
  
He stares at the bathroom door for a moment. He battles the urge to check the doorknob to see if it's locked, or to press his ear against the door. Christian takes a few steps backwards from the door. </i>It's impolite to eavesdrop,</i> his mother's voice reminds him. His cock is throbbing now, he can't get his Master's expression out of his head, doesn't want to, and as his hand moves lower, his thumb rubs down over the stiff length, he crawls onto the bed. He kneels on Liam's side, presses his face into the pillow, and just _feels._  
  
Liam stares at the blank spot on the wall where the mirror was, staring back at himself through the few shards still left around the borders. That's almost enough to get him to lose his erection right there, but not quite. He sighs and turns on the shower. When the temperature's adjusted, he drops his boxers next to the toilet and steps in under the spray. A quick wank will do, then he'll get washed and out, back to Christian, make sure he's still all right.  
  
Breathing deeply, Christian lowers his torso to the bed. He stretches out in the space his Master had occupied just moments before, rocks slowly and gently against the mattress. There's no sense of urgency, no real need to come; just being aroused again amazes him, fascinates him. The last time he remembers feeling like this was when he was twelve, just before Empire of the Sun started filming.  
  
With that thought, his erection wilts, and he shivers unpleasantly. _No._ He rolls off the bed, pacing the second his feet hit the floor. He wraps his arms around himself, as tight as he can, and tries to forget.  
  
Hot water always feels good, even when Liam starts out still pretty relaxed from sleep, and he leans into the stream. His hand goes back to his cock and he picks up where he left off. When his eyes drift closed it's Chris's image that shimmers in front of him, Chris's voice gasping and whimpering for him, Chris's lips wrapped around him.  
  
He comes silently, as he always does when he's alone, a habit picked up from teenage years spent with a younger brother in his room and his parents' bed just one wall away.  
  
When he's caught his breath and is steady on his feet once more, he washes his body and his hair, towels off most of the water, then wraps another one around his waist and goes back into the main room.  
  
Christian is kneeling in the corner, head bowed, rocking back and forth.  
  
He's been hoping, but apparently it isn't going to work that way. Liam walks up behind Christian and goes down on one knee. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and presses their heads together. "Hey, babe. Come back to bed with me. We should get some more sleep."  
  
"No," Christian whispers in a small voice, but he doesn't try to pull away. The rocking continues unhindered, however. "Bad, bad." He shakes his head. "Won't be bad again. Promise."  
  
Liam presses a kiss to Christian's temple, rocking along with him, and says, "You weren't bad. You made an offer and I said no, thank you. You can always offer, or ask, whatever you like. I won't always agree but you're not bad for asking. You've done nothing wrong and I'm not angry and I'm not disappointed and I'd really like to get back in bed and cuddle some more. Will you do that for me?"  
  
Christian's eyes are wide when he finally raises his head and looks at Liam. "Won't be bad," he whimpers, continuing to rock. "Promise." He nods twice, and lowers his head again.  
  
"You're not bad. You weren't bad and I'm not angry," Liam repeats. He stands up, his arms still around Christian, taking the lad with him. He moves them over to the bed and gets Christian into it, then curls up behind him with one arm curled up across Christian's chest and two fingers hooked into his collar. With the covers pulled up their warmth pools and starts to fill the space inside. "There," he whispers. "Relax, babe. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
It takes a few moments, but the warmth and the hold on his collar work to calm Christian down. He gradually relaxes into Liam's embrace.  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry."  
  
"It's all right. Just bad timing, my fault as much as yours. We're both fine now, and we can stay here as long as we like. We've nowhere in particular to be until dinnertime and right now I'm comfortable." Liam tightens his arms for a moment, pressing Christian close.  
  
Christian closes his eyes. His hands slowly move up, slide along his Master's arm until he reaches his hand, and wrap around Liam's hand, keeping him close. "It's Christmas today," he whispers.  
  
Liam nods while enjoying the feel of Christian touching him voluntarily. It happens so seldom outside of crises and panics and he treasures the normal feel of it. "That it is. Everyone will be at home with their family -- if they go out at all it'll be to church. But the place'll be pretty empty and I was thinking maybe we could walk about a bit. You could see some of the city, get some fresh air, without having to worry about crowds of people around you. Do you think you might like that?"  
  
He nods. His chest feels tight, uncomfortably so, and as much as he would like, he can't attribute it to his Master's grip. _It's Christmas._ He had hoped to be settled into his new home by now, celebrating the holiday with Jack, maybe sending a stripper dressed as Santa up to Jonny's place. Instead, he's in Ireland, collared and cuffed and terrified.  
  
"That's what we'll do, then. Later." Liam shifts them a bit so his left arm's under Christian's head and reaches up to brush his cheek with his fingertips, then settles down once more with both arms wrapped around him.  
  
Christian squirms uncomfortably. Normally he loves spooning, so he's not sure why it's bothering him now, but he can't lie like this any longer or he'll scream. "Need to turn," he whispers, tugging at Liam's arm. "Please, now," he says again, a bit louder, kicking at the blankets with both feet.  
  
Liam releases him and backs away, just a little but enough to let Christian shift however he needs to. "It's all right, babe. Whatever you need."  
  
He sits up, gasping and pushing as far from Liam as he can without falling off the bed. It takes him a few breaths before he can scrub at his eyes and lie back down. He curls up to Liam, facing him, and wraps his arm around his Master's waist.  
  
"Better?" Liam waits for Christian to get settled before relaxing down against him. He re-wraps himself around the lad, slowly, one arm at a time, paying sharp attention to Christian's responses in case his muscles tense or his breathing shifts.  
  
Christian sinks into the embrace. "Much," he sighs, comfortable and almost content, except for that little niggle in the back of his mind that he just can't shake. "You're warm," Christian whispers, and rubs Liam's back lightly.  
  
Liam smiles down at him. "That's why we're here, back in bed. It's warm and it's comfortable and I'm not quite ready to swear I'm done sleeping yet." He relaxes another notch, Christian's relaxation reassuring him that there's not another crisis imminent.  
  
Nodding against Liam's arm, he continues gently petting his back. "Feels good." Christian's eyes drift closed. The image of Liam stroking himself jerks his eyes back open. _No._ He quickly looks up, making sure Liam couldn't somehow hear his thought.  
  
"Excellent." Liam closes his eyes and just enjoys the feeling of a warm cuddle. Christian's hand feels good, and he moves his own in soothing circles on Christian's back, letting himself drift back in the general direction of sleep.  
  
  
  
The next time Liam blinks awake it's noticeably lighter in the room. Not a whole lot, but enough that he knows it's been a while. Careful not to disturb Christian who's still wrapped around him, he cranes his head until he can see the bedside clock. Definitely later. He lays his head back down and just drifts, enjoying the peace and silence and warmth.  
  
The form in his arms moves, and he snuggles closer. "Bobby," he mumbles against Liam's chest, still deeply asleep.  
  
Liam blinks a couple of times, then chuckles softly to himself, wondering who Bobby is. Probably better not to ask. Hell, if Christian's dreams are like his own then he likely won't even remember when he wakes up.  
  
What to do today? They'd talked about taking a walk and that's probably still a good idea. Christian can use some fresh air and a change of scenery and there are some places Liam would like to see. He knows things will have changed since last time he walked around but still, curiosity and nostalgia are powerful forces.  
  
Christian frowns in his sleep, then grins broadly for no apparent reason. "Can't, they smell your breath," he whispers.  
  
That pulls another laugh out of Liam, a little harder this time. He's trying to lie quiet and still, to let Christian sleep as long as he can, but it's getting more difficult.  
  
"Don't drop me. Promise you won't drop me, Bobby." Christian's fingers clench against Liam's back, scratching lightly as he tightens his arms around the larger man.  
  
"I won't drop you," Liam whispers, holding Christian tight against him. "I've got you lad. I'm not letting go."  
  
"Okay," Christian whispers back, still unaware of his surroundings, or of who's holding him. "Falling," he mutters as he shifts into a more comfortable position. The knee of his top leg tries to press between Liam's.  
  
All right, none of that. They've already been through that this morning and once was more than enough. Liam shifts away, then moves one leg over both of Christian's, keeping him pinned down more or less.  
  
Christian seems to settle, pulling one arm back to curl between their chests. His breathing is even and soft, the rise and fall of his chest regular and unhurried.  
  
There we go, much better. Liam presses a kiss into Christian's hair and settles down, holding him, brushing one hand up and down his back, gently and slowly. He knows they should get up soon but he's reluctant to give up the peace and comfort. Soon.  
  
Christian smiles again, a gentle, slow-forming expression. He loves waking up with Bobby. _Warm,_ he thinks through a sleepy haze. He turns his head to place a kiss on Bobby's chest.  
  
"Christian?" Liam whispers. "Are you awake? Happy Christmas, lad."  
  
"Happy Christmas, Bobby," Christian mumbles, mildly confused. _Bobby wasn't with me for Christmas._ He opens one eye, closing it quickly against the light. He turns his head toward he man in bed with him, and covers his eyes with one hand, then opens them again, slowly, peering through his fingers. "Liam?" he asks, still a bit groggy.  
  
"There you go, lad. I knew you'd wake up eventually. Do I want to know who Bobby is?" he asks, a teasing light in his eyes.  
  
"What? Who?" he asks as he stretches his arms up above his head.  
  
Liam runs a finger up and down Christian's arm, still smiling to see that he seems to be in a better mood than before. "I was just wondering if there was someone you wanted to call? If you want to wish Bobby a happy Christmas that'd likely work better than trying to shout from here."  
  
Christian gives Liam a confused look. "Call Bobby?" He lowers his arms slowly, but not before pressing up into Liam's touch. "I haven't.... No. I don't think he'd want me to call."  
  
"Ahh, well." Liam's even more curious now but he sets it aside. "So, it being a more reasonable hour of the morning, how about if you get a shower, then? I'll get us some breakfast from room service and then later on we'll go see a bit of the city if you're still of a mind to do that."  
  
"Sounds lovely." He rolls out of bed, stretching again as he walks around the foot of the bed. "Not used to sleeping in," he chuckles softly. "I'll just be a minute." Christian closes the bathroom door behind him, and in a moment the shower can be heard.  
  
Liam sits up, shedding the towel he'd unthinkingly worn back to bed, and after a minute on the phone they've got breakfast coming. He gets dressed, including shoes and socks and leaves a heavy, cable-knit jumper on the foot of the bed, ready to pull on to wear under his jacket for when they go out.  
  
With a glance at the bathroom, he smiles and gets a large, flattish package out from where it was buried at the bottom of his suitcase. It's wrapped in bright red paper with holly on it and a flat gold ribbon, although there's no bow since it would've been squashed in the suitcase. He sets it on the room's desk, out of the way, just as the shower shuts off.  
  
Humming to himself, Christian wraps a towel around his waist, and dries his hair with another. _God, I haven't thought about Bobby in years._ Once his hair is reasonably dry, he pulls his boxers and shirt back on. _Wonder how he's doing now?_ he muses as he wipes his wet footprints off the floor with the towels, and then pads out into the main room.  
  
Liam's looking out the window but he says over his shoulder, "Breakfast should be here in about another fifteen or twenty minutes," without looking back at Christian, giving him some privacy to dress. He's determined to maintain a bit of distance, unobtrusively, after what happened earlier.  
  
Christian nods, and goes about dressing as quickly and quietly as possible. Once he pulls on his faded blue jeans and baggy grey sweatshirt, he walks three feet behind Liam, just slightly to the left, and kneels.  
  
I suppose that'll work, Liam thinks with a small smile. "Wait there. I've something for you." He takes the few steps across the room to the desk, gets the package, then returns and sets it on Christian's lap. "Happy Christmas, lad."  
  
He looks at the present, blinks twice, then changes his focus up to Liam. "I can't accept this," he says in a small voice with a little shake of his head. "I didn't get you anything, Master."  
  
"Of course you can," Liam says. "First, because I say so. Second, because I'm the master and I'm supposed to take care of you, and at Christmas that means presents. Your getting me something is a nice option but not a requirement and since I know you haven't been shopping lately I wasn't expecting anything. Now go ahead and open it -- I've been hoping you'd like it since it arrived four days ago and now I get to find out." He leans against the window, his arms crossed across his chest and smiling anticipation on his face.  
  
With obvious uncertainty and a strange reluctance, like he's convinced Liam is going to snatch it away before he's even finished unwrapping it, Christian slowly peels the paper back.  
  
His eyes widen as he unwraps the computer case, and then opens it to inspect the laptop inside. It's a Dell Inspiron, or so the cover says. Christian strokes his fingers over the full-size keyboard once before looking up again at Liam. "Are you certain?" he asks softly.  
  
"Of course," Liam says just as quietly. He ruffles a fond hand through the lad's hair. "It's ridiculous for a member of my household to _not_ have a laptop, you know? Now you look like you belong with me." He smiles and gives Christian a wink.  
  
It takes a second or two to reach his eyes, but once it does, Christian's smile brightens the room. "Thank you, Master," he says respectfully, and bows his head.  
  
"You're very welcome, Christian. I take it you like it, then?" Liam's own smile matches Christian's. He hasn't seen him smile like that in far too long and he's delighted that his choice of gift was a good one.  
  
"I do, thank you." He looks up at Liam, still grinning. "I could e-mail Jack again, couldn't I, Master?"  
  
"That you could," Liam says with a nod. "There's a modem connection over by the desk. Breakfast'll be here soon but you can go play with your new toy until it arrives." The tease is back in his voice and he's wondering if this is what it's like to have kids on Christmas morning. He honestly doesn't mind that Christian didn't get him anything -- Christian's pleasure in his gift is more than enough.  
  
Christian ducks his head. "Thank you Master." He walks over to the connection on his knees, and hooks up the computer. He sits on the floor, cross-legged, as he logs into his browser e-mail account and fires off a quick "Happy Christmas" to Jack. He decides to surf a few of his favorite time-wasting websites, and one video clip makes him chuckle.  
  
"As I didn't buy you a gift, Master, may I show you something instead?" he asks politely.  
  
"Certainly. What did you find?" Liam walks over next to Christian, crosses his feet and lowers himself easily to the floor next to him where he has a good view of the screen.  
  
Christian turns the sound up, and lets the video play again. It only confirms what he's suspected for years -- geeks should not be allowed to combine computers and Christmas lights.  
  
Liam laughs out loud at the, well, it's more or less a suburban house dancing its Christmas lights to a bouncy-dramatic soundtrack. "I love the web," he says when it finally ends, still chuckling and shaking his head. "I found a website years ago where some lad had set a plate of six or eight different kinds of raw meat outside -- in his _neighbor's_ yard, mind you -- and was taking a picture of it every few days as it decomposed to post to his site. And I spent more time at the original hampsterdance page than I care to recall."  
  
Christian snaps his fingers at the mention of the raw meat project. "I saw that!" He shakes his head, chuckling. Impulsively, he leans over and kisses Liam's shoulder.  
  
Another laugh and Liam leans back and kisses Christian's cheek. "Ahh, soulmates, united over a fond memory of stinkymeat dot com."  
  
Christian laughs so hard he makes a snorting sound, which he tries to stifle by folding both hands over his mouth.  
  
"Here, another silly one...." Liam reaches over and types in a URL. "And this one's British, proving that it's not only the Yanks who can post their lunacy on the web for all to see."  
  
Christian leans in, squinting a bit as he reads. "Cheese racing?" he asks as he scrolls down. He clicks on the link to the photos page. "Good lord," he whispers in awe. "These people are idiots." He grins widely.  
  
"Aren't they?" Liam has a lopsided smile on his face. "But they're idiots having a grand time, you know? I always thought about trying it but never got around to it. Maybe we'll do that this spring when the weather's a bit nicer -- have Jack and Chris over and do some cheese racing. What do you think?" There's a tease in his voice but he's at least half serious; it's just the sort of idiocy that strikes his sometimes warped sense of humor.  
  
Christian looks up at him. "Can you imagine the look on Jack's face, really, when we invite him over for _cheese racing?_ " he asks, nose wrinkling as he smiles.  
  
"They sell T-shirts," Liam says helpfully. "You could get him one, help him get into the spirit of the thing."  
  
Scrolling down, his mouth drops open and he covers his lips with three fingers. "They sell _thongs,_ " he whispers, trying his best not to burst out laughing.  
  
"I suppose you could get him one of those, too, but when he tries it on I want to be somewhere else if that's all right with you," Liam says in a perfect deadpan.  
  
Christian's head bobs between a 'yes' and a 'no'. "I think I'd rather be elsewhere too, in all honesty." His attention is drawn away by a knock at the door. "Shall I?" he asks.  
  
Liam nods and reaches for his wallet to get a tip for the waiter.  
  
After carefully setting his Christmas present on the bureau, Christian walks to the door. A young man of about twenty passes him a dish-laden tray. The bellhop says, "Hey, aren't you --" before the door closes in his face.  
  
Christian takes a deep breath as he rushes the tray to the table, and then holds out his hand to Liam.  
  
Liam winces and considers offering... but no. He hands the note to Christian without commenting.  
  
Christian hurries back to the door. "Sorry 'bout that," he says with a smile. "I didn't have a good grip, didn't want it to fall." He holds the money out to the employee. "And yes, I am," he answers with a nod.  
  
The youth's face breaks out in a smile. "Would you mind signing something for me?" he asks, digging through his pockets for something for Christian to autograph.  
  
"Sure, sure," Christian agrees, just wanting this over as quickly and uneventfully as possible. He takes a few steps back to snag the hotel notepaper off the nightstand, and to grab a pen. He rests the paper on the wall next to the door, signs the top sheet, and then rips it off and hands to the young man. "Thanks again."  
  
"Mr. Bale," the employee replies with a nod and an excited grin before exiting down the hallway.  
  
Christian closes the door again, and slumps back against it. He looks at Liam. "Remind me not to be polite again on this trip," he complains quietly.  
  
"I thought you handled it beautifully," Liam says, with no tease at all this time. He gives Christian a warm smile before heading over toward the table and breakfast.  
  
Christian sighs heavily, and shuffles over to the food. "I need to fire George," he mutters under his breath. "Far too good at his job."  
  
Liam sprinkles raisins on his oatmeal, then brown sugar. "I suppose if you'd prefer a wanker of an agent you'd have no problem finding one."  
  
Christian sighs as he picks at his tea and toast. "Not a wanker. Just someone less... ambitious." He looks at Liam. "I'm Batman, for Chrissakes. Couldn't he have aimed lower?" He shakes his head as he takes a bite of toast and starts to peel an orange.  
  
"Well, I don't imagine he trussed you up and dumped you down on the set, then stood there with a gun at your head while you performed, hmm? Somewhere along the line you must've agreed and signed some contracts. If you don't want that sort of role in the future then you need to let him know that and refuse to accept the blockbuster parts." Liam knows it's not necessarily that easy, but learning to put his foot down about that sort of thing can only help Christian cope.  
  
"I know," he agrees with a sigh. "I just never thought, in my wildest imagination, that they'd make Batman a Welshie. I mean, really!"  
  
"You're too good with accents," Liam points out. "Your own fault, that."  
  
Christian tilts his head in acknowledgement as he takes a sip of tea.  
  
"So what sort of films _do_ you want to do? Or maybe I should ask what you've got coming down the pipeline?" Liam frowns, not having thought of that before. "Are you going to have to go off to work any time in the near future?"  
  
"Batman sequel," Christian replies around a mouthful of toast. He takes a sip of tea, and swallows before continuing. "George had given me something else to read, but I didn't want to take something this soon. I needed some time to just be, after all the publicity and chaos."  
  
"Excellent." Liam nods and takes a sip of his coffee. "I'm glad we don't have that to worry about, at least. I could go with you, of course, if you had obligations, but it would be awkward."  
  
Christian nods. "I don't think we start shooting for another year, yet." He sighs. "At some point, I'm going to have to call George."  
  
"Or you could send him an e-mail," Liam points out. "But yes, I imagine he should know where you are, or at least that you're still alive and haven't been shanghaied to Madagascar or some such thing." He scrapes the bottom of his oatmeal bowl and reaches for a bowl of cut fruit.  
  
Christian fidgets uncomfortably. "I think George knows," he says quietly.  
  
"Well, good." Liam nods, ignoring Christian's obvious discomfort. "So long as your affairs will keep, then I'll not worry about that end of things."  
  
"He --" Christian pauses to clear his throat, "-- he sent a basket, the day after. I'm not sure how much he knows," he says, head lowered as though he's speaking to his plate rather than Liam.  
  
Liam frowns. "The day after you were hurt or the day after we signed our contract?"  
  
"After...." He swallows. "Before I gave you the contract," he says.  
  
"So... then he might _not_ know that you're all right, or where you are, or that you've someone looking after you?" Liam pauses for a moment, then says quietly, "You might consider letting him know. He might be worried about you."  
  
With a small frown, Christian shakes his head abruptly. "Doubt it," he whispers. "I'll e-mail him when we get back to England." He picks up his cup, and drains the last of his tea. He stands, brushes the toast crumbs off his jeans, and walks over to the bed.  
  
"That'll be fine, lad. I just don't want to open the door some day to the coppers because your agent's reported you missing or some such thing." Liam finishes his fruit and his coffee then stands up and moves over behind Christian. He lays both hands on his shoulders and says, "People _do_ worry about you, you know? That's really not such an incredible thought."  
  
Stopped midway through pulling a blanket up, all Christian can do is clutch it in his hands. He has Jack, and Liam, and he can't say out loud how very lonely that makes him feel. By now, Faith's undoubtedly told his father about the divorce, about the photographs....  
  
His shoulders start to shake, and he shrugs in a half-hearted effort to escape Liam's grasp.  
  
Liam squeezes once before letting go. "Some day you'll be able to accept it, babe. I'm patient." He turns and picks up his jumper. "How about if you put the tray outside the door, then, and we'll go out. You'll want something warm."  
  
"Sure," Christian agrees, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. He finishes pulling the blankets up, then walks around the bed to his suitcase. He pulls out a pair of socks, puts them on, then walks to the table for the tray. After setting it out into the hall, he grabs his boots and pulls them on, then dons his coat.  
  
"All set? Let's go, then." Liam links his arm through Christian's and heads for the door  
  
Christian stiffens when Liam touches him, but he doesn't try to pull away, and he doesn't complain.  
  
===================  
  
For the curious:  
  
[Dancing Houselights!](http://www.break.com/articles/houselights.html)  
[Cheese Racing!](http://www.cheeseracing.org/)  


  


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_**Conversations -- Trying Again [Liam, Christian]**_  
[Takes place on 26 December.]  
  
Liam finishes the last knots and says, "All right, you can put your arms down now." Christian obeys and Liam gives him a look-over. He always travels with a couple of reels of cord -- one lives in his laptop case and the other in his suitcase, just because one never knew when it'd come in handy -- and he'd come up with an idea that might help Christian get through a couple of hours alone. Liam had tied him up in a dense pattern of knotted cord all along the torso; it'd let him feel bound even though it didn't restrict his movement, and it had a couple of loops he could work his hands into if he needed more. They both hoped it'd help him feel secure through Liam's absence. "How does that feel?"  
  
His blood's pounding through him so hard he's surprised at Liam's question, surprised Liam can't hear his heartbeat. Christian nods unsteadily. "Good," he whispers. "It's good." He blinks rapidly. So many years he's been part of Citadel, and so many things he hasn't tried....  
  
Still, the whole point of this exercise is to see if it will help him stay calm, and he does feel better, safe, secure.  
  
"Excellent." Liam smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "You can put your shirt back on, then, if you want. And you've got your computer to play with while I'm gone -- if you want to go back to testing the character generator that'd be grand, or if you'd rather play one of your games or send e-mail or whatever, that's fine too." Liam had shown Christian how to log into the house network and he'd been testing some of his game software. It was useful and kept the lad occupied.  
  
"And if you get hungry there's room service -- remember, we'll be leaving shortly after I get back so you'd best eat soon if you're likely to want anything in the next few hours." Liam pauses, glancing around the room as though there might be a clue to something he's forgotten, but nothing leaps out at him.  
  
Nodding slowly, he looks up at Liam. "I'll try... I'll try to be good," he whispers. "I'll try not to bother you this time." Christian's cheeks flush as he remembers Christmas Eve. He drops his gaze, and is caught by the sight of the neat knots trailing up the center of his chest.  
  
Liam reaches out and cups his cheek with one hand. "Christian, if you _need_ me, I _want_ you to come to me. Understood? I'm hoping you don't, that you can be independent for a while, but if you can't then you're to come find me. I'll be at the same place as last time."  
  
Liam's voice is secondary to the touch on his face, the tension of the rope. He's captivated by the physical sensations. "Yeah," he agrees quietly. "How long?"  
  
"Just a couple of hours, about the same as before. No going over because we've a plane to catch." Liam presses a kiss to Christian's forehead and steps away to get his jacket. He stops, though, and takes a long, thoughtful look at Christian's bound torso. He still has some cord left and he's just gotten an idea that might get them through airport security without a repeat of the last trip's crisis.  
  
Christian's fingertips are following the maze of cord winding up his chest. Although Christian tilted up into his Master's kiss just a moment ago, Liam is now being ignored in favour of his handiwork.  
  
Yes, that should do nicely. At least Liam hopes it will.  
  
"I'll be back in a couple of hours, then. Remember, if you need me, come get me." He pets a gentle hand through Christian's hair.  
  
Christian nuzzles into the touch. "I will, Master," he promises. Just as Liam's about to open the door, Christian turns toward him. "Master?"  
  
"Yes, lad?" Liam turns with an inquiring smile.  
  
He frowns for a moment, as though searching for the right words. "Master, would you do this again? If I asked politely?"  
  
Liam's smile broadens and he nods. "Of course, babe. Whenever you like."  
  
With a grin, Christian nods. "Thank you, Master."  
  
"You're quite welcome, lad. See you later, then." With a wave, Liam's through the door and gone.  
  
  
  
Liam's back in the same coffee shop where he'd had lunch with Liza, only now he's waiting for his mam. He's ordered coffee for both of them; Mam is always prompt and he knows hers won't have time to get cold.  
  
Sure enough, less than a minute later a tall, slender old lady enters. She pauses and looks about. Liam waves and she spots him immediately. He stands up and gives her a hug a bit less rambunctious than the one he'd given Liza; he'd stopped picking his mother up a couple of decades ago in deference to her back as well as her dignity.  
  
"Let me have a look at you," she demands, leaning back without letting go his hands. Her clear blue gaze runs over him and she says, "Liza was right. You look like hell."  
  
"I'm fine, Mam. I'm just tired. As I told Liza and I'll repeat to you." He gives her a last hug and hands her into the booth before taking a seat across from her.  
  
"You're not a young lad anymore, you know," she says, with the assurance of someone who's _old_ herself and not afraid of it. "You need to look after yourself. You can't keep tripping along like you were twenty years old still."  
  
"Yes, Mam. I gave up the week-long drunken orgies at least a year ago. I restrict myself to weekends now." Liam's face is solemn and respectful but his eyes are twinkling.  
  
His mother gives him a good clout on the shoulder -- no question where Liza picked up that habit, he thinks with an internal eyeroll -- and says, "Don't you sass me, lad."  
  
"I thought I wasn't a lad anymore -- wasn't that the whole point?" Liam braces himself for another smack and it comes a moment later.  
  
"William John! You're not to old to go over my knee!" She's glaring up at him but he can see the smile lines around her eyes deepen.  
  
Liam stifles an automatic response to the effect that being spanked isn't really his kink; he and his mam enjoy sassing back and forth but there are limits and he's well familiar with where they are. Instead he says, "Yes, Mam," and leans over to kiss her cheek.  
  
"That's better," she says with a sniff, taking a sip of her coffee. The waitress -- a different one from two days prior -- comes up and they order food. When the woman is gone, she asks, "Is there a reason you didn't bring your young man?"  
  
Liam coughs and works on getting his coffee into his stomach instead of his lungs. When he can breathe again, he gasps out, "What the hell did Liza tell you?! He's not even here! And he's not my young man. I mean, not yet and maybe... I mean, it's not...." He trails off and ends up with his usual summation. "It's complicated."  
  
"Nonsense. You came in with him. Annie next door works at the front desk at your hotel and she told me you've a young man with you. I was looking forward to meeting him. Why didn't you bring him with you to meet me? You can't think I'd be nasty to him."  
  
Ahh. That was... well, not better, not really, but different. Cursing gossiping neighbors, he says, "Your friend made some assumptions, Mam. I've _a_ young man with me, but he's not _my_ young man. He's a friend who's had a hard time. I'm looking after him and couldn't leave him at home, but he's not really up to meeting people."  
  
She gives him a fond but exasperated smile. "Still collecting strays, love?"  
  
"He's a friend, Mam. I've known him for ten years and I couldn't turn my back on him. He's hardly a stray."  
  
"I didn't mean it like that, love. I'm sorry. I'm sure he's fortunate to have you about when he needs help." She takes another sip of her coffee. "So, tell me about the other one."  
  
"Mam...." Liam's fairly sure he's not going to win this one, but he has to try.  
  
"Don't 'Mam' me. Anyone who can get you that flustered is worth hearing about. So tell. Who is he? What's he like?"  
  
Liam sighs and nods. He looks down at his coffee and stirs, despite the fact that it's his usual black. "He's a lovely young man, Mam. I'm too old for him, really, but he doesn't seem to care." He shrugs and flashes her a rueful smile. "He's sweet and funny and we always have things to talk about. He's a vegetarian and he's determined to get me eating tofu. I'm corrupting him with real chocolate and processed sugar. I imagine we'll end up with chocolate-covered tofu at some point."  
  
His mother snorts and rolls her eyes. "And you're in heaven learning a new sort of cooking, I'm sure."  
  
"It's interesting," he says with a nod of surrender. "I'm not about to give up my steaks but it's a challenge, that's sure."  
  
"So, what does he do? Is he another computer weasel?"  
  
Liam laughs out loud. "That's 'computer weenie,' Mam. And no, he's not. He's an actor, actually."  
  
"Oh? Would I have heard of him?"  
  
"Probably not. Or... did you see the Fantastic Four movie that came out recently? The comic book movie?"  
  
"I don't think so." She looks thoughtful for a moment. "I saw the new Batman movie with Sharon's herd but I've not seen anything else like that."  
  
Liam keeps a straight face at the mention of Batman and says, "Well, he was in that one. It was quite a nice part, one of the leads. He's a good actor, too -- his character is an obnoxious little cockscomb and Chris couldn't be any more different."  
  
"Well, he sounds like a lovely lad, then. I hope you'll think about bringing him next year?"  
  
Liam sighs and stirs his coffee some more. "I'm really not sure what's going on there, Mam. I care for him very much but we've not known each other long. If it does become something that lasts, something deep, then I'd love to have him meet you. Right now, though, I can't even explain to myself what we're doing. Not really."  
  
She nods contentedly and says, "You're smitten is what you're doing. You've all the signs."  
  
"Mayhap. We'll see." Liam hesitates, then says, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention him to anyone. Not even Liza. Please? I told her there's someone, she pried it out of me, but I didn't give her any details and I'd rather not be nagged about something that might not... turn into anything. You know?"  
  
Her smile softens and she reaches over to pat his hand. "Of course, love. I understand, truly. At your own pace, then."  
  
He hesitates again. He really doesn't think this is a very good idea, but he has a desire, a _need_ to share this with someone, with his mam, even if it's just the potential. Keeping it stopped up inside, it's built up a pressure that needs release. He says, "Hang on," and pulls his laptop out of the case under the table. His hotel right next door has a wireless hub and he opens his browser and calls up IMDB. A few moments later he puts the computer on the table and turns it to face his mother. "That's him, Mam."  
  
She leans forward to study the photo and he sees her eyes widen. "Good lord. You weren't lying -- he's a wee babe!"  
  
Liam winces. "He's not _that_ young, Mam," he protests, while sending up prayers of thanks that she knows nothing about Adam and never will.  
  
"He's certainly a handsome one, I'll give you that."  
  
"Aye, that he is." Liam feels his smile turning sappy and he can't bring himself to care.  
  
Mam eyes him from over the screen and comments, "You look just like Sharon's Deena when she's going on about her new boyfriend."  
  
"Is her boyfriend as cute as mine?" Liam asks with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
His mam snorts at him but her smile lines are showing again. "Well, I'll grant you he's still into the gangly stage. I'm sure he'll fill out nicely in the next few years. Whether Deena's still sweet on him when he does is another matter that I'm not going to worry about."  
  
"Likely not," Liam agrees, "teenagers being what they are. That's all right, though -- there are plenty of pretty men out there."  
  
"And how many have you left her?"  
  
"Mam!" Liam shoots her an exasperated look. "Even if I were interested in men _that_ young, which I'm most certainly not, we're fishing in two different ponds." Which isn't a hundred percent true but he's not about to get into the complexities of bisexuality with his mother.  
  
"I notice you're not denying that you've been through a goodly number of the ones in your own pond, though," she comments, taking a calm sip of her coffee.  
  
"No, I'm not." He meets her gaze just as calmly. "I'll not give you details you don't care to have, but I'll not lie to you either."  
  
She sighs and moves his laptop aside. "It feels odd to be saying so under the circumstances, but you were always a good boy."  
  
Liam doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything. It's bittersweet, that sort of lefthanded praise, but he knows he's blessed beyond measure to get even that much from someone of her generation, so he takes it in the spirit in which it was meant.  
  
The sad look in his mam's eyes is mirrored, he's sure, by that in his own, and only the waitress arriving with their lunches prevents the situation from descending into sentimental melancholy.  


  


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	16. Chapter 16

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_**Arrivals [Liam, Christian, Adam]**_  
[This takes place on 26 December, a few hours after [Liam leaves Christian again and meets his mam for lunch](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/7375.html)]  
  
To say that Christian is distracted would be an understatement. All the way to the airport and for most of the flight, he'd played with the knots of his bindings underneath his sweater. When he pulls his sweater tight around his chest, it looks like he has a spine running down the front of him.  
  
"I thought it would itch more," he says as he buttons the front of his jacket while walking across the concourse.  
  
"If you'd like it to itch next time then I'll dig out the scratchy twine," Liam offers with a lopsided smile. "You'll have to wait until we're home, though." They're making their way through the crowds of Heathrow, headed for baggage claim. Liam has one eye open for Adam on the off chance that the lad's late by just enough to have them arriving simultaneously but he doesn't really expect to see him yet.  
  
He shakes his head. "I said I thought it would," Christian clarifies, "not that I wanted it to."  
  
"Just trying to be accommodating," Liam teases. He reaches over and lays his arm across Christian's shoulders as they walk, his hand curled around his throat and the collar he'd, well, macramed. "How are you doing?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. It feels.. strange. Light, but not really...."  
  
Liam nods. "I tried to make it tight enough to feel but not too tight. I'm afraid there wasn't anything I could do about lack of weight. If we have to fly anywhere else while you're with me I'll see what I can do. Maybe some beads.... Hematite? Or might that set off the metal detector?" He lapses into pondering. He knows a shop that sells semi-precious stones, including beads, and he could just knot rows of stone beads together, give the lad all the weight he could want. He's not planning any more trips in the near future but it's good to have a plan.  
  
Christian looks around, and nods to one of the signs. "Is that us?"  
  
"Yes, although I doubt our baggage will've beaten us here." Liam heads over to the carousel with their flight number over it and stands near the chute with Christian right in front of him, doing his best to subtly keep a space around them. He doesn't often make full use of the intimidation potential of his height and build but this time he figures it's in a good cause.  
  
Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets so he can press against the bindings discreetly, he glances up at Liam. "What does your friend look like? The one we're supposed to meet?"  
  
"He's about a foot shorter than I am, slender, a mop of dark hair, enormous eyes. Depending on how he's dressed he might look like he's twenty or twelve." Liam's scanning the crowd too, keeping a watch out for Adam. He's still slightly amazed that their flights were scheduled to come in only half an hour apart and assuming Adam's plane had landed on time he's probably here in the throng somewhere looking for them.  
  
Christian frowns. "Is that...a bit of a stretch?"  
  
"Which part? The twenty? Probably. The twelve? No, probably not, or at least not much. He has a very sweet baby face. He likely hates it right now but when he's thirty-five he'll love it." Liam raises one eyebrow in a wry smile.  
  
"And how old is he really?" Christian asks carefully.  
  
"He's eighteen, lad. I promise. He works at Citadel LA and I met him at Sarlat over Halloween weekend."  
  
"Oh. Good. What was he doing at Sarlat?" Most members only go for one of two things, but maybe it'll be a surprise. Maybe they're offering a course in ballroom dancing.  
  
Liam chuckles. "Trust me, he was enjoying himself considerably. Every now and then his confidence fails him and he needs a good cuddle -- he's quite new to all of this -- but most of the time he shows a delightful enthusiasm."  
  
Nodding, Christian replies, "I'm going to assume he's a bottom." He can't imagine it the other way around, from Liam's description.  
  
"As it happens, you're right. It's a tricky assumption to make, though." Liam leans forward slightly and whispers, "For example, when I first got into kink I was a sub. People don't always follow the obvious path. And they can change."  
  
Christian leans back against Liam's chest. "I'm a switch," he whispers back, "I'm familiar with the concept."  
  
"Just checking." Liam slips an arm around his waist and squeezes lightly. "The lad's just starting out. He's a bottom now and a delightful one at that, but who knows what he'll enjoy in a few months or years, yeah? Just now he's a little sweetheart, though, and I think you'll like him."  
  
Christian tries to remember the last time he encountered someone that young. "We'll see, won't we?"  
  
Adam grabs his bag, a medium sized rolling suitcase. He walks along, messenger bag bouncing against his hip. He stops, scanning the crowd. It's not hard to spot Liam. Adam runs and throws his arms around his friend. "Liam!"  
  
Suddenly sandwiched between two warm bodies, Liam's smile broadens as he twists around toward Adam. One arm still around Christian, he gives Adam a hug with his other arm, lifting him off his feet for a moment. "There you are! I was afraid we'd be here all afternoon hunting one another." He takes a step back so the lads can see each other and says, "Christian, this is Adam. Adam, Christian." The carousel behind them has just started to move and he hopes they won't be here much longer.  
  
Adam extends a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Christian." His eyes light up, realizing who it is.  
  
Heart pounding, it's all Christian can do to resist that first instinct of fight or flight. Luckily, Liam's arm takes some of the decision away, and holds him where he is. He eyes Adam warily. "Hello," he replies quietly.  
  
Saved by a suitcase! Liam can feel the tension filling Christian but he spots his suitcase and moves over to where he can snag it as it passes, incidentally taking Christian with him. He keeps him pressed tightly against his side and whispers, "Easy, babe. I'm here, keep breathing." He grabs his bag and hands it over to Christian -- at least if he tries to bolt it might slow him down.  
  
Adam watches them walk. Something isn't right. He stands there, hands on his suitcase.  
  
Christian wraps his fist tight around the suitcase handle, keeping Liam between him and the rambunctious youth. He rubs his free hand over his stomach, reminding himself of the bindings around his chest.  
  
Liam hangs on to Christian and glances at Adam over his shoulder. He's trying for a welcoming smile, something reassuring, but he's not quite sure he's got it. Most of his attention is focused on Christian, part on the baggage carousel, another part on Adam, and the last tiny sliver is wondering why he thought meeting up like this would be simple. When they're settled in the car it should be better, they'll be able to talk and relax a bit, but for right now he's just feeling torn. Come on, he thinks, watching the luggage stream past. Sod it all, why do so many people have black bags?  
  
Adam walks over to Liam, standing beside him. He's quiet. Something's up, but he doesn't know what. Instead, he'll wait. They'll tell him soon.  
  
 _Breathe. Liam's here. Breathe. Liam's here._ The words are a mantra that are keeping him in place, if not entirely calm. _Breathe. Liam's here._  
  
No, no, no -- Jaysus no! Who the hell would want a hot pink suitcase?? Although on second thought Liam has to admit it _does_ stand out. He shudders and shakes his head. Not worth it.  
  
No, not that one, no, no, aha! He leans forward and snags Christian's bag, then moves all three of them a few steps away before taking inventory. Christian, Adam, Christian's laptop case, his own laptop case, Adam has a bag -- check. "There," he says with a thread of relief in his voice. "That's everything. Let's get out of here." He heads for the door and a minute later they're piling into the back of the Citadel car -- Christian first, then Liam, then Adam -- while the driver loads their suitcases into the boot. Liam settles back with an arm around each of the lads and gives them both a hug. "I truly loathe airports."  
  
Adam snuggles close, stifling a yawn. "Liam? Is there something going on?" He says it very softly.  
  
Placing his hand on Liam's thigh, Christian whispers, "I want my collar." His hand tightens, fingers pressing in hard. "Please, Liam, I want my collar."  
  
"Of course, lad, hang on." Liam snags the collar out of his laptop case and reaches over to put it on, trying to maneuver around Christian's hands fumbling at the macrame collar, trying to get it _off_ at the same time. "Easy, here we go...." He circles the collar higher on the lad's throat and clicks the lock closed, then slides it down as Christian pulls the other one off. He settles the leather one into place and gives it a tug. "There, that's right, then," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to his temple.  
  
Now Adam. Without moving away from Christian, Liam turns and lays a hand on Adam's thigh. "Yes, there is. Christian and I've been friends for a long time and when he was hurt recently he asked me if I'd look after him. He's under contract as my slave and he's living with me. It'll be the three of us while you're here."  
  
The relief of the collar is disturbing, but he'll look at that later. Right now, it feels too good to argue with it, too good to refuse or deny it. Christian sags against Liam's side, curling up with a soft sigh.  
  
Adam nods. He doesn't want to ask what happened. It's none of his business. "I'm sorry if I'm making this more difficult."  
  
"Getting away from the crowds will help a lot," Liam assures him.  
  
The car sways slightly as the driver gets in and pulls away from the curb. Liam glances out the window and says, "Now, let's hope for light traffic and we'll be home soon." Liam's definitely looking forward to being home, back in familiar surroundings. He hopes Christian will be able to relax and feel more secure.  
  
Adam leans up, and lightly touches Christian's arm. It's a brief touch, followed by a smile.  
  
Closing his eyes, Christian allows himself to sink into familiarity: the feel of his collar, Liam's arm around him, his Master's scent, and the gentle jostle of the car.  
  
Adam watches Liam and Christian, and sighs, looking out the window. Maybe he shouldn't have come. Not if Christian is that fragile.  
  
Liam starts rubbing up and down Christian's arm, enjoying the feel of the lad relaxing against his side. He looks over at Adam and asks, "How was your flight? I've done the London-LA route before and it always seems like it's going to go on for sodding ever. On the way home, by about halfway across the Atlantic I'm usually ready to bail out and swim the rest of the way."  
  
"Long. I listened to music most of the way. And slept. It was an overnight flight." He sits up, pulling a bit away. Christian needs his master, and Adam doesn't want to get in the way.  
  
"Well, you came all that way, might as well come the last bit." Liam wraps his free arm around Adam and pulls him back until he's snugged up against his side. He ruffles the boy's hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head. "It'll be fine, sweetheart. I'm sorry if I'm distracted but it's been a difficult trip and I'm out of sorts. If I really hadn't wanted you to come, though, I'd have said so and we could have rescheduled for another time."  
  
"Have you seen James?" Adam asks it softly. It still hurts. Deeply.  
  
Christian's breathing evens out as he starts to doze. He's where he wants to be, collared again and secure.  
  
"Not recently, no," Liam says with a sigh, a headshake and another squeeze. "I talked to him right after you called me that night but I haven't run into him."  
  
"I called him once." He stops talking, getting choked up. "It just wasn't meant to be."  
  
"Easy, sweetheart." Liam unconsciously starts rubbing Adam's arm too, in sync with Christian's on his other side. "It's always hard losing your first lover but you'll survive it. It might not seem like it now, but I promise you will, and you'll move on and things will be well again."  
  
Adam peeks at Christian to make sure he is sleeping. "He was hurt badly. Like a scene gone way bad?" The boy frowns. "Can I help him? At all?"  
  
"Something like that, yes," Liam says quietly. "And he has a hard time with strangers, you know? Give him a chance to get used to you." He remembers the mistake Chris made out of kindness and adds, "He's comfortable with his role as a slave, so let him stay there. Not ordering him about and all, but leave him be -- like a servant who has a job to do and isn't there to chat. He feels safe like that; it's not as complicated."  
  
Adam nods. "Are we almost there?" He can't stop looking at the man. Wondering what's going on inside his head.  
  
Liam gives him a lopsided smile. "It takes about half an hour, so get comfortable." He sneaks in a tickle down low on Adam's ribs.  
  
Adam wiggles, laughing. "Hey! Unfair!" He tickles back.  
  
Hey, now!" Liam wraps his arm around Adam and pins the lad against his side, both arms caught. "No making me laugh while the other lad's using me as a pillow." He winks and leans down to give Adam a sound kiss, then another one not quite so rough.  
  
Adam kisses Liam back. The kiss isn't as sweet and innocent as he was hoping for. He's had a long dry spell. So very long.  
  
When he's deeply asleep, Christian's face seems to drop ten years, but the giggling and wiggling wakes him up. "Are we home?" he mumbles, eyes still closed.  
  
"Not yet, babe," Liam murmurs to him. "Go back to sleep." Christian gets a kiss this time, light and gentle.  
  
He sets about distracting Adam with conversation and cuddling and mostly succeeds the rest of the way home. They manage not to wake Christian again until the car finally pulls through the gate into the Mews. Liam says, "This is it, we're almost there," to Adam, then shakes Christian gently and says, "Christian? Wake up, babe. We're home."  
  
Christian stretches in bits and pieces, tensing and relaxing until he can get out of the car and indulge a real stretch. He glances at the youth on the other side of his Master, and understands what Liam meant about him being twelve or twenty.  
  
Adam gathers his bag, looking around. So this is what living in that gated community is like.  
  
Liam makes sure they've got everything, then leads the cavalcade -- Christian, Adam, driver with bags -- up the steps and inside. "Christian, Adam's sleeping with me, remember? Could you show him where that is, please, so he can take his bag up?" He gives Christian a pat on the shoulder then turns to tip the driver and fetch the mail.  
  
Christian nods, and picks his and Liam's bags up off the floor. "Please follow me, Adam," he says softly, and leads him up the stairs. He drops his own bags outside the spare room, and leads Adam on down the hall. "This is Master's room." He opens the door, and places Liam's bags inside.  
  
Adam nods. He takes his bag and puts it inside. "Thanks, Christian." He wants to hug the man, to make it all better.  
  
He avoids meeting Adam's eyes. "The washroom is through that door," he adds as he points to another door in Liam's room. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"  
  
Adam sighs. "Not now. But thank you." Adam turns to get a fresh shirt. "I'm going to freshen up. I'll be along in a moment"  
  
With a nod, Christian returns to the room Liam gave him when he first arrived. He sighs as he enters the room, looks at the bed with a feeling of dread.  
  
Adam washes up and changes his shirt, before heading downstairs. He silently walks up to Liam and hugs him.  
  
"Hello again, sweetheart. Feel better?" Liam hugs Adam back, rocking him gently.  
  
"Yeah. I washed up. So I feel more human." He doesn't let go. "It was hard not to just hug Christian. But I know he might not like it."  
  
"No, likely not." Liam scoops Adam up and settles onto the sofa with the boy on his lap. "I know you mean well with the hugs but you have good instincts in this case. We'll see -- it's possible he'll warm up to you while you're here."  
  
"I hope so." Adam cuddles up. "Thank you for letting me stay with you." He kisses the older man.  
  
"It's good to see you again. It's not quite what we'd hoped for when we first made plans, but the world keeps turning and we keep going. I'm sure we'll have a lovely visit." Liam nuzzles Adam's neck and whispers, "I can think of a few things I'd like to do while you're here that mayhap you'll enjoy."  
  
"I need to be fucked like it's my job." He laughs. "My usual bed partners got all brotherly." There is desperation in his voice.  
  
Liam laughs and gives Adam a rough cuddle. "Well, now, that sounds like a terrible thing to have happen! We'll definitely have to make sure you're well-fucked while you're here. And I think you need to hang out at the club in your off hours and find some new partners, hmm?"  
  
"I might." He nuzzles at Liam's neck. "Will Christian be bothered by this?"  
  
"No, that's not a problem," Liam says, shaking his head. "He and I aren't lovers and never have been."  
  
"But if I wanted to suck you off right now, that would be rude."  
  
"Well, it might." Liam grins and kisses the end of Adam's nose. "We could go somewhere else, though. Just to be polite." And God help him, Liam really _wants_ this right now. A chance to relax, have some fun, forget about the trip and... everything. Just for a while.  
  
"Your room?" Adam grins.  
  
"Our room, for now." Liam stands up, taking Adam with him and heads for the stairs.  
  
Christian drops his bag beside the bed, and places his laptop case on the bureau. He doesn't want to go back downstairs, doesn't want to know, doesn't want to see, doesn't want to think.  
  
He leans against the wall between the bureau and the closet, and slowly sinks down to sit on the floor. Christian wraps his arms around his knees, and lowers his head. He hasn't liked Christmas since he was a kid, and this year has just been another example of why. Too much travel, too little joy.  
  
He misses Jack. Maybe tomorrow he'll call him.  


  


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	17. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log (players only): Dec 27th, early morning, London - Citadel Mews

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(written with [](http://www.journalfen.net/users/adam_l/profile)[**adam_l**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/adam_l/). Backdated.)  
Sitting on the edge of his bed and rocking gently back and forth with his arms wrapped around a pillow, Christian wishes desperately that Jack was here, or that Adam wasn't, so he could climb into bed with Liam again. The nightmares are worse when he's alone; even sleeping on the bench under the window would be better than this isolation. It's just a dream, he tries to convince himself.  
  
  
  
But he's not sure if it is just a dream. Maybe it had just been him and Holden, or maybe it really had been a room full of guys. Maybe the semen had only been the remnants from a broken condom, but maybe they had all come in him and then cleaned him out afterward. Had they injected him with something, and that's why he couldn't remember? Had they taken photos? Videotaped it?  
  
He buries his face in the pillow, hoping it'll muffle the sound of his tears.  
  
Adam was up using the bathroom when he hears soft sobbing. Quietly he creeps into Christian's room and gently touches his back. "Christian? You ok?"  
  
Lost in self-recrimination, Christian hadn't heard anyone enter the room. His head jerks up at the touch, and his blood-shot eyes meet Adam's. He opens his mouth to speak, fails, and settles for shaking his head. He doesn't have the words to explain how very not okay he is, and even if he had them, why would Adam care?  
  
Adam frowns and sits on the bed. "Nightmare?" He gently rubs the man's back. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen."  
  
He hides his face in the pillow, wiping his tears onto the fabric. He mumbles something, but it's nonsense through the wadded up stuffing. Turning his head just enough to be understood, he whispers "You don't really want to know." His biceps flex as he tightens his grip around the pillow.  
  
The boy shakes his head, "I do. It's bothering you. And you should talk about it. So it'll hurt less. Pain shared is pain halved."  
  
Christian is lost; he wants to share, wants to get rid of some of this anguish, but words fail him, and he can't tell a near-perfect stranger about what happened, how colossally he had fucked up. He looks at Adam, bloodshot eyes begging for understanding, and shakes his head slowly from side to side. "I can't," he whispers miserably.  
  
Instead of speaking, Adam hugs Christian close. "It's ok."   
  
_It's okay._ Two little words, and he sinks into Adam's touch, relief and comfort rolling over him, blessing the tears and making each sob a sacrament.   
  
Adam rocks the larger man, rubbing his back. "Just let it out." He wishes there was more he could do.   
  
Loosening his grip on the pillow, Christian drapes his left arm around Adam's waist, his right slipping up under Adam's arm, and then gripping his left shoulder from behind. He buries his face against the younger man's throat.   
  
Finally, the man is opening up, taking support. It makes Adam feel good. "You don't have to let go. I can stay. If you want."  
  
Christian nods. He can't speak, not yet, not with his breath hitching like this, but at least he's managed to get the sobbing back under control. The occasional one still slips past him. "Please." He doesn't dare try a second word.  
  
Adam nods. He slides under the sheets. "Just hold onto me. Like a really big security blanket."  
  
Wiping his eyes on the backs of his hands, Christian nudges Adam until he rolls onto his side, then moves in behind him. One arm slips under Adam's head, the other around his waist with his hand fisted over Adam's heart. Christian presses his forehead against the base of Adam's skull, his breath warm through Adam's hair.   
  
Adam's not big enough to hold Christian, so this is the second best thing. "I'll be here when you're ready to talk. Even if I'm not.... you know... here." He takes Christian's hand, uncurling it.  
  
Christian doesn't speak, but tightens his hold on Adam. He nods, and it almost feels like he's nuzzling into Adam's hair.   
  
Adam twines his fingers around Christian's. He never asked for details about Christian, but Adam was told enough. "That feels nice, hugging me tightly." He smiles. "You have nice strong arms." Adam wants to help this man, in what ever way he can.  
  
His response is to press himself closer against Adam's back. Even Christian's legs are curled to match the smaller man's, his feet resting just under Adam's soles. He's cold, inside and out, and Adam feels so very warm.  
  
"Tell me about it. Tell me how I can help." His fingers hold tight to Christian's hand.   
  
After the stress and tension of the past few days, the quiet and the darkness and the heat of another body blend into an intoxicating combination. "Just stay," he whispers, and this time the movement against Adam's throat _is_ Christian nuzzling.  
  
Adam tilts his head back, almost purring at the nuzzling. He smiles. "I will." Adam closes his eyes, letting the man relax and unwind around him.  
  
He uncurls and curls his fingers in Adam's hand, presses his cheek against the side of his throat, straightens his legs, then curls them tighter behind the smaller man's. Each small movement leads to another: the hand flexing seems to caress Adam's chest lightly, the motion on his throat brings Christian's lips against his skin, and the stretching of Christian's legs moves his hips just that much closer.  
  
Adam is a bit startled by the light kiss. But he doesn't stop anything. He'll let Christian explore. If it goes too fast, or too far, he'll just have to figure that out later.  
  
Christian starts to drift off, exhausted after the emotional hell of his nightmare and waking alone. The warm body in his arms feels good, comfortable, and he wraps himself as near to it as he can. He moves his top leg so his calf crosses over the other man's, and tightens his arms around him. A soft sigh escapes his lips, brushing lightly over the flesh beneath them.  
  
Adam hears Christian's breath start to even out. He smiles. Hopefully he'll sleep peacefully. Adam closes his eyes and drifts off too.  
  
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	18. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log:  Dec 27th, morning, London - Citadel Mews

| **I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: Dec 27th, morning, London - Citadel Mews** |  [[entries](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/)|[archive](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/calendar)|[friends](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/friends)|[userinfo](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/profile)]  
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|  Log: Dec 27th, morning, London - Citadel Mews | [Dec. 27th, 2005| **09:21 am** ]  
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(with [](http://www.journalfen.net/users/adam_l/profile)[**adam_l**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/adam_l/) , [](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/profile)[**cit_liam**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/) , and [](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/profile)[**jack_d**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/); will be backdated)  
  
He's aware in the dream, first, of something warm in his arms. It's solid, but smaller than him, so he wraps himself tighter around it. It smells good. His cock is hard, and pressed against the warmth. It feels right, soothing, to rock against it, just a bit.  
  
  
Adam is first aware of warm arms around him. Next, he's rather surprised to feel a very hard cock pressed against his boxers. For someone that has suffered from what Christian has, this is pretty interesting. He smiles and turns a bit, to see if the man is awake.  
  
The warmth - a body, he recognizes dimly, a male body - shifts. He doesn't want it to leave, it feels good, wrapped in his arms and rubbing against his morning erection. He wants it to stay. He shifts one arm around its shoulders, and tightens the one around its waist, holding it close.  
  
Adam smiles. He turns a bit, so he can touch Christian's hair. Touch his face.  
  
With a soft sigh, he nuzzles into the tender touches. Christian brings his other arm down to Adam's waist, anchoring him as he gently starts to rub his cock into the crease of Adam's ass. One thumb caresses the bare skin of the younger man's stomach.  
  
Adam smiles. "Christian..." It's a soft call. If the man is doing this in his sleep, it's one thing. But he wants Christian awake and present.  
  
The hand on Adam's stomach moves lower, inching down to the waistband of his boxers. Rising toward a lazy awareness, Christian sloppily kisses the skin beneath his mouth, suckles and licks as he presses his cock hard against Adam's ass.   
  
Adam moans softly. "Christian.... you awake?" It feels good, but unless he hears the man is present, it's not continuing.  
  
Christian grunts in response. His arms move to try to turn Adam to face him completely as his lips continue to map the skin he can easily reach. A damp patch of precome is beginning to form on the front of his sweatpants.  
  
Adam turns easily. He places his palms on Christian’s chest. "Christian, wake up. Answer me. I'm ok with this, if you're awake."  
  
His eyes open briefly, still a little scratchy-feeling from the night before. "Stop talking," he whispers as he tries to cover Adam's mouth with his own. His cock twitches and his arms tighten, pulling them closer together. He tries to press one thigh between Adam's legs.  
  
Oh, that works. Adam surrenders to the kiss, wrapping his arms around Christian. His legs open, he rubs his forming erection against Christian's thigh.  
  
 _Finally_. Christian rolls them both so he's on top of Adam, covering him completely with his six-foot, hundred-and-eighty-pound frame. He grinds his hips down with definite intent, his cock poking and prodding at Adam's as Christian groans in pleasure.  
  
Adam moans loudly. God, there are few pleasure greater than this, to be covered by another man. His hips buck a bit, rubbing against Christian. His head tilts back, exposing his throat.  
  
Christian growls as he humps the smaller man. His balls are full, his cock heavy, all of it is demanding that he takes what he wants. The body beneath him is willing and eager; Christian pulls his arms back, one after the other, to find the other man's wrists, then pulls them up over his head, pressing them into the pillows. Liam's cuffs on Christian's wrists dig a bit as he scrambles to hold both of Adam's wrists with one hand. The pain shoots straight to his cock, and it jets another little stream of precome from the tip, wetting his sweats even more and soaking through both layers of fabric to Adam's skin.  
  
Adam cries out, stretched out and pinned under the man. He wraps his legs around Christian' waist. "Please.... more..." It's the hand on his wrists that does it, sends him sinking.   
  
With a gasp, Christian grabs Adam's shoulder from underneath, clutching him to his chest as he draws his knees up under Adam's thighs. His back bows as he presses down on his wrists and grinds his cock against Adam's ass. He wants to come, needs to, the momentum in his hips keeps him moving when his eyes flash open and the hand on Adam's wrists clenches -  
  
\-- and oh jesus it's _Adam_ writhing below him, _Adam's_ cock trapped under his, not Jack's like he'd been dreaming, but it doesn't matter, it feels too fucking good to stop, right on the edge, right on that narrow ledge between _almost_ and _there_.  
  
There's not enough. Adam needs more. If this is some midnight grope, there's only one of them that's even close. "Please... touch me.... Please..."  
  
Touch sounds like perfection, more skin, more contact with heat. Christian's hand abandons Adam's shoulder to wriggle his sweatpants down around his hips. He tugs at Adam's boxers ineffectually for a moment before panting in frustration and just pushing his cock inside through the slit in the front of the fabric. Their cocks rub against each other, hot and silky and wet and _fuck just a little more_ he wraps his hand around both of them from the outside of Adam's underwear, pumping and stroking as he bites impatiently at Adam's throat. He needs to _come_ goddamnit.   
  
Adam's hips flex, in a counterpoint to the actions of Christian's hand. "Permission... getting close... but permission..."  
  
Eyes rolling back till they close, Christian loses himself in the primal sensations of his body, and the surge of pleasure that comes with a sub asking his permission to come. He ruts against Adam's cock, spreading his precome slickly over his skin until he's right _there_ , gonna come, gonna come with _Adam_ begging for his own release, gonna _come_ all over _Master's_ Adam, now, oh fuck now, oh fuck _now_. With one last thrust, Christian shudders, his cock pulses hot cream all over Adam's dick, all over his abdomen. The hand Christian had been using to stroke them both now holds the heads of their cocks close together, each twitch and throb transferring from his dick to Adam's.   
  
Adam's right there. He cries out softly and comes, his come mixing with Christian's. Adam lays there, eyes glassy, still pinned by Christian.  
  
Christian feels boneless, his face pressed against Adam's throat and panting. As he slowly regains awareness of the two loads of salty stickiness between them, he clenches his eyes closed, and prays that what he thinks just happened, didn't.  
  
Adam, for his part, smiles. He moans softly. "Thank you.... was wonderful."  
  
He's torn between wanting to escape, call Jack, and beg for forgiveness, and the need to hold Adam, protect and comfort him. A resurgence of memory makes the decision for him, and Christian rolls away from the smaller man, falls onto the floor. He struggles to his feet as he pulls his sweats up over the wet mess on his abdomen. He raises his hand to cover his mouth, then recoils from it as he realizes it's coated in evidence of their passion. He stares at Adam for a moment, clothes messed, hair wild and sticking up all over. "I'm sorry," he whispers as he shakes his head and turns to run down the stairs.  
  
Adam lies there, blinking. He gets up, following the man, stopping only briefly to clean himself off. _Damnit. I should have stopped it._ "Christian!"  
  
Christian nearly trips on the stairs, but recovers before he goes down them headfirst. He skids into the kitchen, barefoot, hair a mess, and a telltale damp patch on his sweatpants. He looks around, wild-eyed and panting.  
  
Liam looks up from his breakfast, a good-morning dying in his throat. "Christian? What happened, lad? Are you all right?" He gets up and crosses over to him in a few strides, taking in the disheveled panic with a frown.  
  
"I need the phone," he says, not at all his usual deferential self. "Where's the phone?" He doesn't look directly at Liam, he can't, not right now, not when he has to get to Jack.  
  
Christian's obviously not calm, but at the same time he's not... weak, either. He seems sure about what he needs, so Liam reaches over the lad's shoulder and takes the phone set off its base on the wall and hands it to him.  
  
Christian practically snatches it out of Liam's grasp, and takes off at a quick pace across the floor, dialing with sharp jabs of his index and thumb. He paces as he waits for someone to pick up on the other end, and runs his hand through his hair.  
  
Adam comes skidding around the corner and stops short just inside the entrance to the kitchen. Liam gives Christian one last look, then heads over to talk to Adam, who likely knows what all this is about.  
  
Cursing himself mentally, Christian prays he hasn't completely fucked things up.  
  
"Hello?" Jack picks up, not checking the number. He can always make an excuse if it's someone he doesn't want to talk to.  
  
"Jack, jesus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it I swear, I'm sorry, please Jack," Christian babbles all at once in a trembling voice just above a whisper. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened, he was there and I was asleep, and I'm sorry Jack, I'm sorry."  
  
"Christian, what is it?" Jack snaps to attention, listening carefully. "Has something happened to you?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean to do it, but I was so close when I woke up and Adam was there and he was humping me back, I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't mean to." He paces back and forth, one arm curled around his chest protectively. His heart is racing.  
  
"Who's Adam?" are the first words out of Jack's mouth.  
  
"M-master's friend," Christian explains, "Liam's friend. Little sub who's here for a few days."  
  
Little catches Jack's mind. "He didn't hurt you?" is all Jack can think of to ask.  
  
Christian shakes his head. "No, he didn't hurt me." He continues to pace, turning away when he notices he's walking toward Liam and Adam.  
  
"What happened?" Jack asks; he's calmer now that he knows Christian hasn't been hurt. “Christian?" Jack repeats. "What happened?" He looks around, but his few guests must still be asleep, there's no sign of life.  
  
Christian runs his fingers back through his hair, tugging hard at the strands to help center himself. "When I woke up this morning, Adam was in my bed, and I was..." He swallows. "I was _hard_ ," he whispers.  
  
Okay. That wasn't what Jack was expecting to hear. But it's a common reaction. "Oh." He wishes he could get something else out.  
  
"I'm sorry." He's near tears, and he hates what this is doing to Jack. "I'm so fucking sorry, Jack."  
  
"Did you... fuck him?" Jack asks, voice tight but trying not to lose it. Yet.  
  
Christian shakes his head. The first time he whispers the word, it's too low to hear. "No, Jack, jesus no." _That's not exactly true though, is it?_ He bites down on the side of his thumb. "He came too," he whispers.  
  
"Really?" Jack would be laughing if there wasn't a gaping hole somewhere in the region of his stomach. If he couldn't hear how scared Christian was, he'd probably hang up right now.  
  
"I didn't mean to touch him, Jack, I swear to god, but I was asleep, and I woke up hard, and he was warm..." He hates how emotional he's been lately. He shouldn't be almost in tears, this isn't how he reacts to conflict, he doesn't let this show, ever. But here he is, headed toward the stairs, sitting down and curling his legs up against his chest. "I'm sorry Jack."  
  
"I don't feel like you cheated," Jack says, slowly. "Were you sleeping in the same bed?"  
  
"I had a nightmare last night," he whispers. "Adam came in to see what was wrong."  
  
"Oh," Jack says, pacing up and down. This isn't so strange or wrong.  
  
"The minute I could move again, I called you. I'm sorry, Jack. I fucked up."  
  
"No, Christian, you didn't."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"I'm not going to pretend this is the news I wanted to wake up to," Jack says, feeling that Christian deserves his honesty. "But I'm still here."  
  
"Jack, I-" A small noise from upstairs gets his attention. "I just left him lying there," he whispers.  
  
"Maybe you should go and take care of him?" Jack suggests, quietly.  
  
"I'll call you back," Christian promises. Then rethinks. "If you still want me to."  
  
"I want you to, Christian. This conversation," he chooses the words carefully, "isn't over."  
  
"Thank you." Christian hits the 'end' button on the phone, and places it on the step beside him. Resting his elbows on his knees, Christian runs his fingers through his hair, but doesn't raise his head when he's finished.  
  
  
Adam listens to Christian on the phone. His heart breaks. He's clean and dressed, and sitting in the dark, trying not to cry. He hurt him. He hurt Christian.  
  
"Jesus fuck," he curses under his breath. He slowly raises his head, dragging his fingers down over his cheeks as he does so. He has to find Adam, has to apologize, has to explain. He stands, looks around. "Adam?" he calls softly. "Adam, where are you?"  
  
"Up here." Adam's wrapped tight in a blanket, in the guest room.  
  
Christian walks up the stairs with heavy steps. Each foot feels like lead as he raises and lowers it. Confessing to Jack helped, but he still feels torn, conflicted. How could he have done that with Adam when he can't even touch himself without panic swelling up inside him?   
  
He pauses outside the door. He can't go in. Instead, he sits on the floor, bracing his back against the wall opposite the door. "Adam, I'm sorry," he says quietly.  
  
"I'm sorry! I didn’t want to hurt you worse!" His voice is thick with tears. He curls in on himself crying. "Sorry. Should have said no.... sorry..."  
  
"Adam." Christian pushes himself to his feet, and shuffles into the bedroom. "Adam, come here." He leans against the door frame, one hand held out, waiting.   
  
Slowly, Adam slides form the bed. He takes the man's hand. "Just wanted to help you."  
  
Christian pulls Adam to his chest, and curls around the smaller man's frame. "You did," he whispers against his temple. It's hard to admit, how much he needed to feel in control of another person. He plants a kiss in Adam's hair, and rubs his back. "You did."  
  
"But you ran away." He hides his face against Christian's chest. "You held me down. It was wonderful. But it... " he pauses. "I shouldn't have let you. I sink too easily." He was sinking, and his top left. That's a hurt that stings. But luckily, it fades quickly.  
  
He holds Adam tighter. "I'm sorry, Adam, god I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." Christian bends a bit to adjust his hold on Adam, then stands straight, picking him up off the floor. He walks them both to the bed. "Lay down," he whispers. He's not sure how Jack will react when he eventually tells him, but it's a shitty thing to leave a sub in this shape, and he doesn't want Liam to clean up after him, not in this. His Master already does enough.  
  
"Yessir." Adam lies down, curling up on the bed. He reaches out for Christian. " 'M sorry. Didn't want to hurt you worse." He just wants to make it all better. That's all Adam has ever wanted. Everyone to be happy.  
  
Christian lies down on the bed beside him, gently stroking one hand down Adam's side from shoulder to mid-thigh, over and over. He props himself up on one elbow, tucking his forearm under Adam's head to cradle him close. "You didn't hurt me," he whispers against Adam's hair. "You didn't hurt me at all." He's surprised to learn it's the truth; being with Adam didn't hurt. Worrying about what it would do to Jack, on the other hand... that had felt like it was going to kill him.   
  
"Then why did you run? Why did you sound sad?" The gentle touch helps. Helps to center him from where he was shaken out of space. "Didn't want to go under for you. Didn't warn you first."  
  
"I ran... because I'm involved with someone, and I was... I didn't want to hurt him." It would be so easy for Christian to say he's in love, but he's not quite ready to face it, not when he and Jack have barely seen each other, and haven't even touched yet. "I don't... I don't know what happened this morning, Adam," he admits, kissing his forehead. "But it didn't hurt."  
  
"I didn’t know you already had someone. I'm sorry." He closes his eyes, curling a little in on himself. "If he loves you, he'll understand. He'll understand that you were very hurt, and things are kinda outta whack."  
  
Christian holds Adam tighter, crosses one of his thighs over Adam's legs. "He does, and yeah, they are." He has to smile a little despite himself. "Things are most definitely out of whack." The oddity of his situation - bound to Liam, dating Jack, holding Adam - is amusing in a demented sort of way that appeals to him. He runs his fingers through Adam's hair, careful not to catch any of the strands in the buckle of his cuff.   
  
"I can talk to your lover tomorrow. I can explain. I can try." If he was a cat, Adam would purr. He loves it when people play with his hair.  
  
"No." A wave of protectiveness rushes through Christian, though he can't really place who he's feeling protective of. Protecting Adam from Jack doesn't make sense, but neither does protecting Jack from Adam. He frowns as he tries to sort it out. "No, unless you're... with... someone right now, you don't need to explain anything to anyone." He reclines, pulling Adam half-on-top of him. He continues to massage his scalp and toy with his hair. "You feel good," he whispers after a moment.  
  
"So do you." Adam sighs, content. "I'm not with anyone. Though I am going out with a girl when I get back. She's always trying to set me up with guys and all." He goes quiet for a while. "Feel free to keep going. I might just purr for you."  
  
Adam hadn't hurt him before, but hearing his plans sets up an ache in Christian's chest. He wants to keep going, _wants to keep Adam_ he realizes with a start, but he can't, and this possessiveness has no foundation. Adam's young, _too young to want someone over thirty_ he thinks. He shakes his head. "I need to sit up," he tells Adam quietly, his voice unsteady.   
  
Adam nods, rolling from Christian's lap and curling up around himself. "Are you hungry? We can make breakfast."   
  
He shakes his head, not looking at Adam. "Thanks, but... no." _I have Jack. I can't ask for Adam too._ He toys absently with one of his cuffs.  
  
Adam turns and cuddles up. He rests his head on Christian's thigh. "Talk to me. You're so closed off. That can't be good."   
  
"I..." He looks down at Adam, and his chest aches. He wants to run his fingers through that hair, wants to just pull Adam back up on to his lap and wrap him in his arms, but that's such a bad idea Christian doesn't even know how to begin to describe it. "I'm..." He sighs. "I want to keep you," he whispers, "and I can't."  
  
Adam frowns. "Why? I'm not that special." Adam sits up. "And right now, I'm not looking for a master. I'm sorry. But you can cuddle me and kiss me until I go home." He shrugs, offering that compromise.   
  
Christian shakes his head slowly. "I can't." He sighs, rubs his palms on his thighs, not surprised that they're sweating. "I'm... not casual. Not anymore." He can firmly say that's Jack's fault. "I'd want to keep you with me and Jack, and I'm afraid I'd hurt you."  
  
Adam nods. "Thank you for being honest." He looks away, and grabs a hoodie, slipping it on. "I'm going to get something to eat. I'll put water on for tea if you want it."   
  
"Yeah, thanks," he nods, still looking down at his hands. He needs to talk to Jack again, needs to hear his voice. He can't have Adam, and that's the end of that. The idea though... the thought of sharing someone with Jack, it has his blood pumping in a way it hasn't since... _this morning,_ the little voice inside him laughs.  
  
Adam smiles and slips downstairs. He wonders if he’s done more harm than good. _Way to go. Hurt the guy worse._  
  
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	19. Chapter 19

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@ [2006](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/2006/)-[01](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/2006/01/)-[24](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/2006/01/24/) 00:42:00   
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_**Jack And Christian - Hard Reality**_  
(Players only, takes place December 27 just after [this](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/12583.html))  
  
  
  
"Oh, fuck," Jack groans, letting himself fall backward onto the bed, turning off the phone being an afterthought. He's really not sure how he's going to handle talking to Christian later. He's not even sure how to process all this. But he has to figure it out, because he can't lean on anyone else right now.  
  
About forty-five minutes later, the phone rings again.  
  
Jack checks the number this time, not wanting to be caught by someone who isn't Christian. It is, so he picks up. "Hello, Christian."  
  
"Hi Jack," Christian whispers. He looks down into his tea, hoping for inspiration.   
  
The tea says nothing.  
  
"Is... Adam feeling better?" Jack asks.  
  
Christian nods. "I think so. Seems to be." Christ, he hates this feeling. "I'm sorry, Jack," he whispers again. He just can't seem to say it enough.  
  
"That's good," Jack replies. He's still not at all sure just how he feels about this. "I wish I could get angry," he says, almost too softly to hear.  
  
"I think I wish you would too," Christian sniffles with a watery smile. "At least then it would feel like there was a beginning, middle, and end."  
  
"I just... I'm numb," Jack whispers. "I want to say something to hurt you. But I can't."  
  
"You can," Christian whispers, "It's okay."   
  
"I can't because I don't have the words," Jack whispers. "I want to tell you just how bad this makes me feel, but I don't have the words to do that."  
  
Christian scrubs his eyes with one hand. "I didn't... I di-" Walking quickly, hoping Liam doesn't see, he retreats to his room. Part of him insists on saying Red and ending this pain, but hanging up won't make the pain go away, and that knowledge keeps him quiet.  
  
"I know you didn't. That's part of what hurts so much. I know you didn't want to hurt me," Jack says, quietly. He thinks for a moment that sometimes in life, the greatest hurt comes from trying not to hurt someone.  
  
Christian bites his lower lip, struggles to get his breathing back under control. "You should leave," he says once he's sure he can speak without his voice breaking. "You should leave, and just forget about me."  
  
"If I thought I could, I would," Jack says, his voice broken. But he knows. He hasn't been broken completely. His trust in Christian still exists. "I would have walked away when you told me."  
  
"I'm a fuck-up, Jack, and I'll just... I'll fuck you up too, and I don't want to do that." He rubs his cuff hard against the still-healing cuts he made in Ireland. The pain is soothing, but not nearly enough.  
  
"Don't you think I'm already fucked up and it has nothing to do with you?" Jack says. "I'm in a place I'm not supposed to be, in a role that was never mine to begin with. You are the one thing that's made sense to me in... years." And he realises how true that is. He's never put it into words. "You make me feel like... me," Jack murmurs.  
  
"You don't want me, Jack. You can't."  
  
"I do, Christian. I don't know why sometimes, but I do." Jack rests his forehead against the window.  
  
Christian grabs a pillow and clutches it to his chest. "I wish it had been you," he whispers, voice muffled slightly by the fabric. "I wish it had been you." He wipes his tears on the pillowcase. "I know it sounds like a lie, but I was dreaming of you."  
  
"I believe you," Jack says. "You've got no reason to lie about something like that, when it could hurt me more, after all. I kind of like to think I was a part of it in some way," he says. "How's that for pathetic?"  
  
"You're not pathetic. You're never pathetic."  
  
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Jack glances at the door, thinking he heard someone moving. "You really would." He sighs. "There's things you don't know about me, Christian."  
  
"But I will, right? Eventually. If you stay." He feels like he's begging, and he hates to beg. It leaves him feeling dirty, like he's talking to his father, or Faith.   
  
"You will know, Christian. Maybe you'll decide you don't want me to stay," Jack whispers. "Maybe I'll be too much for you..."  
  
"No," he says with conviction. "No, never." He sits on the edge of the bed, pillow tucked under his chin.   
  
"I worry about that," Jack says. "That I'll be too much, or this whole title thing will be too much, or...that you'll decide I'm more trouble than I'm worth."  
  
Jack's words force a laugh out of Christian that's not quite founded in mirth. "You're trouble?" He rubs the cuff again, deliberately chaffing his skin. "You're not trouble, love. You're the normal one," he whispers.  
  
"Christian, what did you call me?" Jack isn't sure he heard right. He knows he should talk of the other things, but he's sure he heard it. Still, he has to know.  
  
The rapid switch in conversational tracks leaves Christian confused. "What?" His brow furrows. "The normal one?"  
  
"No, before that," Jack says, unsure for a moment if he did hear it. He might have been fooling himself again.  
  
He shakes his head a little, trying to recapture what he had said, mentally rewinding it like a scene. "You're not trouble, love, you're the normal one." He slows it down a bit this time as he says it.  
  
"I did hear it," Jack says. "You called me..." he can't say it. "Christian..."  
  
Christian sits motionless, staring across the room at the wall. _What the fuck?_ He swallows. _It's a figure of speech. I don't... I can't... we haven't even kissed, for fuck's sake._   
  
_You do. Holy shit._ He can't speak, can barely think around the word stuck in his head.  
  
"Me too," Jack says, softly. He hopes Christian knows what he means. He can't quite get the word out right now. He's still shocked Christian said it.  
  
"Fuck," Christian whispers. It's the best he can manage.  
  
"Yeah," Jack agrees. He knew he felt this way, but he hadn't even let himself hope that Christian might. "I know the feeling."  
  
"Jack," he whispers, "I..." _I what?_ "I... was... dreaming about you," his mouth says without bothering to wait for his brain to catch up. "You were on the other side of Adam," he whispers, and now the details of the dream are clear in his mind. "He was between us, and you were inside him, fucking him up against me. We were touching each other over his shoulder." His mind doesn't think Jack really wants the details, but Christian's cock remembers it as a very good dream.  
  
Jack laughs. He can't help it. "I wish I knew what Adam looked like. I would like to know if it was really good or...." he isn't quite sure why he said that, but it felt right.  
  
"It was... good... until you weren't there anymore..."  
  
"I wish I had been," Jack whispers. "And not for Adam."  
  
Christian's cock is hard, and he wonders how he managed with it _Before_ , because it's damned distracting now. "Remember how you said we found a button... last time we talked?"  
  
"I do," Jack murmurs. "I remember it very well."  
  
"Uh, yeah. Button," he breathes. "Definite button."   
  
"Me being there?" Jack grins into the phone.  
  
"You being in control, of both of us," he whispers. The more he thinks about it, the more he remembers. Jack ordering him and Adam around. Telling them what to do. Telling him to come.  
  
"Oh...." that seems to work on Jack too. "Yes. I'd like that..." he whispers, voice hoarse. "Both of you..."  
  
Christian stares down at his cock, breathing shallow and rapid as it twitches. "Jack," he whispers. "Jesus, Jack." He scrambles farther back onto the bed, and pulls his sweats down over his rigid member. His hand on the over-warm skin makes him hiss with pleasure he thought he'd lost any hope of having again.   
  
"You're hard again, aren't you? Thinking of me?" Jack can feel his voice getting huskier.  
  
Mouth dry, he groans in response. He reaches down tentatively, and wraps his hand around his cock. "Oh fuck, _Jack_."  
  
"Stroking yourself? Do it if you aren't, " Jack whispers. "Feel how hot you get when I speak to you..."  
  
"Jack," Christian whimpers, closing his eyes tight. "Gonna be over so fast," he whispers, moving his hand just a fraction. He doesn't want to think about why this is working, what's wrong or right about it; he just wants to share a normal moment with _his Jack_.  
  
"I know," Jack says. "Don't stop..." he wouldn't do that, not now, he's just going to go with this and let it fall where it will. And hope no one comes in.  
  
"Talk, Jack, anything," he gasps. He tightens his fist, just a bit, spreads the resulting clear bead of precome down over the head of his cock. "Weather, news, phone book." He grins, remembering their other conversation about voices.  
  
Jack laughs and starts reciting a nursery rhyme, just to tease Christian. "Of course, I always liked the idea that the old fairy tales and nursery rhymes were secretly very perverted," Jack says, almost sounding conversational.  
  
Christian's cock agrees, and while it's not the messy spurting reaction of this morning, coming is coming, and it takes his breath away. "Jack," he manages to breathe after a moment. "Yeah. Button." He looks at his hand for a moment, then wipes it on the hip of his pants. He'll be changing them soon anyway.  
  
"Yeah," Jack is just slightly distracted, he's trying to figure out if he needs to go somewhere. It really would not do to have his mother - or, god forbid, Stephen - walk in on this. "Christian... I need to lock the door or something, just a second." He holds the phone next to his ear and moves to the door to lock it. "Don't want the wrong person to walk in," he explains.  
  
"Yeah," Christian mutters, still a bit shaken. "Are... are you...?"  
  
"Am I what?" Jack asks, really not sure what Christian means. He's a little light-headed. "Hard? Oh, yes..."  
  
"Yeah," he exhales softly.  
  
"How could I not be?" Jack says, a shaky laugh emerging. "When you... god... Christian..." he settles back on the couch, his pyjama pants seeming to fall off without his touching them. He gasps as the cool air hits his skin.  
  
"Not a sound was heard, but the ottoman shook, and my darling looked awfully worried, as round his fair form I a firm hold took, and John Thomas I silently buried," Christian recites quietly.  
  
The words tumble through his mind and Jack wants to laugh at Christian reciting erotic poetry that he knows he should know, but he can't figure it out and it doesn't matter because it's Christian's voice and he finally gives in and starts stroking. "Don't... don't stop talking... please..."  
  
"We buried him deeply at dead of night, the tails of our night-shirts upturning; With struggling raptures and fits of delight, the night-lights dimly burning. No useless French Letters enclosed his crest, for ne'er in such rubbish we bound him. But he went like a warrior taking his rest, with naught but his fur coat around him."  
  
"Fuck...." Jack can feel it, rushing through him. Not there yet, but so close he can taste it. "Christian. Love... you..." He strokes, slowly, and captures the head between his fingers, squeezing hard.  
  
"Oh, jesus Jack," Christian whispers. It almost hurts to hear it, though he can't figure out why.  
  
He's coming and he knows he said something and that Christian responded but the pleasure overwhelms him and he cries out, feeling his come gush all over him, unable to think of anything else right now. He grimaces slightly as he feels some drip onto the couch, but he'll figure it out later. "Christian..."  
  
He can almost feel it, shudders with the ghostly sensations. "Jack, god Jack, you sound so good when you come, could listen to you breathe like that forever," he whispers.  
  
"You might have to," Jack jokes, weakly. "I think you killed me..." He's smiling though.  
  
Christian smiles slowly. "Was good?"  
  
"Was very good," Jack says. "I wonder if... when... we do this in person... if we will survive." He catches his breath, hoping he hasn't ruined the moment, and cursing himself for not thinking before speaking.  
  
"You know what I really want?"  
  
"What?" Jack asks, relieved that Christian doesn't sound scared.  
  
Christian has to pull the sheet up over his crotch before he can have this conversation. The last thing he wants is Adam grabbing an eyeful on the way past his door. "I want to watch you come," he whispers.  
  
"Just tell me when," Jack says, the idea alone almost enough to make him hard again. "I mean... I should stop pushing."  
  
"I don't... I don't know when. Not yet." Christian picks one of Adam's hairs off the pillow. "Soon. I hope," he admits in a soft voice.  
  
"Just tell me when you're ready," Jack says. "I think I'll be able to handle it when you want it. Okay?"  
  
"Are you... are you sure you want to wait for me?"  
  
"Very sure," Jack says. "More sure than ever right now, and I don't mean because you made me come. Things... happened."  
  
"Yeah," Christian whispers. He shifts on the bed, trying to get more comfortable. "We have the strangest relationship."  
  
"We really do," Jack nods, vaguely relieved not to have to get into just what happened yet. He knows he wants to tell Christian, but right now, he just wants to enjoy this. Pillow talk, he laughs to himself. Serious stuff could wait for later. "But I don't want anything else."  
  
"Dirty phone calls and the occasional email?" Christian closes his eyes. "I thought I was the socially inept one."  
  
"Oh, trust me, you aren't," Jack says. "I just hide it better."  
  
"Oh." Christian's content to leave that particular battle of the bad in Jack's corner. "We've had one date."   
  
"Which went very well," Jack points out. "And I don't know how, but... you got into my heart. I like having you there."  
  
"We shook hands. We didn't even hug."   
"I know," Jack smiles, slightly. "Maybe... it's old-fashioned courtship?"  
  
That gets him, and Christian laughs. "Eighteen sixties style? Should I send you flowers with a hidden message?"  
  
"If you want to," Jack laughs with him. "But you know those movies.... The Age Of Innocence, no touches but hands and the kiss on the shoe... sexier than half the breast shots in any given movie."  
  
"I'm not disagreeing. But do you remember what we said at lunch, on our one date?"  
  
"I'm trying to remember," Jack says. "You might have to refresh my memory." He's pretty sure he knows, but he isn't going to be the one to say it.  
  
"I wasn't looking for romance... just a fuck-buddy. And you said you thought romance was just another way to sell cards." Christian pulls his blanket up over his back. "When did that change?" he asks softly.  
  
"I know. I wasn't either," Jack says, just as softly. "I think... when I figured out that I had to do something to let us have whatever chance we have."  
  
"Do something?" Christian asks. "Do what?"  
  
Jack sighs. He wasn't going to get into this. He isn't sure how to. But he doesn't want to lie. "Before you... there was someone in my life. Sort of in my life. It's hard to explain."  
  
"The person you told about us?"  
  
"Yes," Jack says, trying to find the words. "I'm sorry, this is more difficult than I thought it would be."  
  
Christian swallows. "We can talk about it later. It's been... a strange day. So far. I haven't even finished my tea yet."  
  
"Later would be good," Jack says. "I need to get my thoughts in order." More than Christian knows yet. But he knows he can tell him, soon.  
  
He nods, even though Jack can't see him. "That's fine. We're not in any hurry." Christian smiles. "Obviously."  
  
"That's good," Jack says. "And it'll be okay." He really feels it, at last.  
  


  


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_**Leaving [Liam, Adam, Christian]**_  
[Takes place on 28 December.]  
  
"You're sure you didn't forget anything, lad?" Liam's only half joking; the car's just now leaving the Mews and if anything's been left behind, now's the time to turn around. Three hours from now Adam'll be in the air and then it'll be parcel post.  
  
He's sitting in the middle, the same as when they'd arrived, one arm around each of the lads. He and Christian are taking the ride to the airport with Adam, keeping him company as far as they can.  
  
"I'm sure." He reaches out to touch Christian, who has been quiet, since their night time grope.  
  
Christian catches Adam's hand in his own. He caresses the younger man's fingers, stroking them with his fingertips.  
  
Adam smiles. After everything hat happened, Christian can touch him. He squeezes Christian's hand. "You have my e-mail, Christian? Keep in touch, please."  
  
Christian nods. "Yeah," he says softly. "If anything... changes, let me know."  
  
Liam smiles at the two of them. "Definitely keep in touch and let us know how you're doing. And drop us an e-mail when you get home, let us know you made it safely, yeah?"  
  
"I will." He lean up and kisses first Liam, then Christian. Soft, chaste kisses.  
  
Liam presses back against the seat when Adam leans past him, then ruffles his hair when he sits back. "We're going to miss you, sweetheart. It's been fun having you."  
  
Without looking up, Christian blushes at Liam's words.  
  
Adam cuddles close, not wanting the trip to end.  
  
Liam gets comfortable, a warm body pressed against him on either side. It's quiet and peaceful and they settle back to enjoy this last time together.  


  


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_**Jack And Christian - Steps Forward**_  
(players only, takes place December 30)  
  
  
  
He wonders if it's a good idea to call. After the last time, the good parts *and* the bad, he's a little nervous to make the first move. But he has the feeling he'll have to, and there are things he needs to talk about too. So he hits the speed dial again.  
  
"Hello?" Liam's voice has grown familiar over the past month.  
  
"Liam," Jack says. "Is Christian... about?"  
  
"One moment, Jack." There is a minute of silence, and then Christian's voice comes over the line.  
  
"Jack?"   
  
"Christian. How are you?" Jack's sitting in his study, having just been looking over estate reports. He stretches out on the soft leather chair.  
  
"I've... been better." He carries the phone upstairs. "You?"  
  
"I know the feeling," Jack sighs. "So I guess things with Adam didn't go great?"  
  
"He's not... looking for anything permanent right now." Christian shakes his head. "And I'm not looking for anything casual."  
  
"Neither am I," Jack whispers, unable to stop himself. "And... is it as okay as   
it can be otherwise?"  
  
Christian sighs. "Faith's lawyers want to meet sometime in the next two weeks."  
  
"Damn. More delay tactics?" He sighs.  
  
"I don't know. Her lawyers spoke to my lawyers..." He trails off. "I really don't want to discuss it."  
  
"I don't blame you," Jack says. "So, seeing I haven't had a chance to ask you this yet, how was your Christmas in Ireland?"  
  
"Let's... not discuss that either."  
  
"That bad? Not discussing, you can just say yes. But I'll want to hear about it later."  
  
"Red, Jack. I don't know when it won't be." Christian sits on the edge of his bed. His wrists are still a bit tender from his fit in the hotel.  
  
"Okay," Jack says, trying not to let it get to him. It's not his choice. "I... Christian... I wish..."  
  
"What?" he whispers. _Please, don't ask about Ireland again, please..._  
  
"I wish I was with you right now," Jack says.  
  
Just thinking about it, Jack sitting beside him, curled up next to him on the bed, makes his chest ache. "So do I." Jack's arms around him would feel so good right now...  
  
"Wrapped up in each other," Jack whispers. "Just holding on, no one to interrupt us." He sighs. "Someday."  
  
"Someday," Christian agrees softly. "Eventually."  
  
"At least we can see it now," Jack whispers. "It's not... not a dream...?"  
  
"Not a dream," Christian whispers. "Definitely not a dream."  
  
"Tell me if this is a red area, but I have to admit, back when we took you to... to Liam? I did wonder... if it was a dream," Jack says, just as quietly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I wondered if I'd ever have you back," he says. "I know you said... but... it was hard for me."  
  
Christian rubs his forehead with the heel of one hand. Nothing Christian has done in the past week has been right, and he begins to wonder if he'll ever manage to do anything right again. "I'm sorry," he whispers.   
  
"It's not something you need to be sorry about," Jack says. "I just have to accept that I have the right to feel hurt about this too. I didn't... think I did."  
  
"I... I don't understand." Christian backs up on the bed, resting against the headboard. He pulls a pillow closer, not hugging it, not yet.  
  
"I thought I had to push my feelings away, be strong for you," Jack replies. "I wanted to, but at the same time... I was tearing up inside with pain."  
  
"Jack." His voice cracks, and he hates himself for it. Relationships are supposed to be about giving, about both parties supporting the other, but so far all he's managed to do is take. "You're leaving."  
  
He says it like it's a fact, like he's been waiting for it.  
  
"No, Christian. I'm not leaving." Jack leans back and rubs the bridge of his nose. "But I think, if I hadn't talked this out... got some of the pain out... I would have."  
  
Swallowing hard, Christian clutches the pillow in his free hand. _He wants to leave. Jack wants to leave._ "I'm sorry," he whispers again as his heart begins to race.   
  
"I'm not leaving," Jack says. "I don't want to. I *love* you."  
  
The last words, whispered, as sincere as he can sound.  
  
 _Love._ He looks up at the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears. "You should. I'm... all kinds of fucked up."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Jack says. "I mean, it does, but not in regard to my wanting you."  
  
"It matters to me," Christian whispers. "And eventually, you'll come to realise what a mistake you've made, and you'll leave."  
  
"I'm not going to leave," Jack says again. He wants to say it, but he doesn't know how. "I want... forever." Even as he lets the words out, he's sure that was a mistake.  
  
"No. No, you don't." Christian shakes his head. "Not with me."  
  
"I do," Jack says. "I want it all. I want to be with you when we're both grey-haired."  
  
He looks at the cuffs around his wrists, resists tucking a finger underneath the leather to rub against the almost-healed scratches. Christian opens his mouth to say _yellow_ , but "So do I," comes out instead.  
  
He doesn't drop the phone in shock. Not really. His hand just goes numb for a second, or that's what he tells himself. "Yes," he whispers, more words not coming just yet.  
  
"But you'll leave," Christian continues. "You'll realise just how much of a... mess... I am, and you'll leave."  
  
"No," Jack says, the one syllable words seeming to come easily. "Don't want to leave I want... you aren't ready to hear it yet."  
  
"It won't matter when you say it, Jack. I won't believe it. No one stays."  
  
"I will."  
  
Christian shakes his head ruefully. "You'll see," he whispers.  
  
"Don't you think I would have left by now if I was going to?" Jack whispers.  
  
"Maybe you're a masochist," Christian replies quietly. "Maybe you'll leave next week."  
  
"I am, but that isn't why I'm staying," Jack replies. "I'm staying because, as cliched as it might sound, I can't imagine my life without you in it."  
  
 _Try harder_ comes to mind, but he doesn't say it. "Am I? In it, I mean?" Christian asks.   
  
"Well, not the way I'd like you to be, but yes," Jack says. "If it were up to me..." he sighs again. "Let me know if this is a no go area, okay? I'm stumbling in the dark with my foot over a mine shaft."  
  
"I'll tell you," Christian nods. "So far, you're still green." He gives in to a need for comfort he hates to admit, pulling the pillow onto his lap.   
  
"This is good," Jack smiles a little. "You'd be here right now. Maybe not in my arms, but here, and I could just reach out and touch you, if I wanted to, which I would. You'd have been here for Christmas, with me. With us."  
  
Christian frowns. "Us?" he asks.  
  
"My family," Jack replies. "What's left of it..."  
  
That _hurts_ , but Christian isn't sure if it's because of his own family situation, or because of what Jack told him about his brother and father. "Your mother..." he begins.  
  
"Yes, and Stephen, my nephew. And..." he hesitates for a moment, knowing this is a step into territory neither of them are going to get out of unscathed. "His mother."  
  
"You paused," Christian points out quietly.  
  
"I did," Jack says. "Not for a bad reason."  
  
Christian frowns. "There's a good reason to pause like that?"  
  
"Complications," Jack says. "Nothing to do with us. Not now."  
  
"What kind of..." and now it's his turn to pause, "complications?  
  
"It's a very long story," Jack says. "But I want to tell you."  
  
With a sigh, Christian rearranges his pillows and blankets till he's comfortable, one pillow again pulled against his chest. "All right."  
  
"It's... I'm trying to figure out where to start. And no, don't tell me that the beginning is a good place, there's more than one." He sighs. "Okay. I've told you about... about my father and brother."  
  
"Yes. Some. Not much."   
  
"It... was both of them. At the same time," he says. "If it hadn't been....maybe I would have been able to handle things better. I don't know. But if.. if Michael had died, and Dad hadn't, maybe he could have prepared me better for this..."  
  
Christian listens, his brow creasing as he tries to anticipate how this relates to the pause about his nephew's mother.  
  
"Anyway, I inherited a mess. Several of them," Jack says, finally getting on track. "You'd be surprised the things that get covered up when you're an Earl's son... well, the heir anyway. I never got a lot covered up. I think sometimes my mum would have preferred it that way."  
  
"It was probably better for you."  
  
"It was," Jack says. "Anyway, one of the things I found out was that I was an uncle. I had no idea before then. It was hushed up, like it was the fifties or something."  
  
"And?" The pause still doesn't make sense.  
  
"She was very young at the time," Jack says. "The reason for the cover up, I guess. She was sixteen. She's twenty-seven now, and Stephen is ten." He continues. "I was the one who had to let my mother know that they existed. She had no idea either."  
  
"Do you think your father knew?" Christian asks softly.  
  
"I know he did," Jack says, just as softly. "It was all in the papers I found. I just... I don't understand why it had to be hushed up."  
  
Christian makes a small noise so Jack knows he's still listening.  
  
"Of course, they tried to throw money at the problem. It was a bit stupid, as Juli's family is very comfortable, and probably has more money than we do, technically. But that's the way most rich people seem to handle problems, isn't it?" he says, a little bitterly. "So, what happened was, I wanted to know more about the situation. I went to America to visit Juli and Stephen and her family. Her parents weren't exactly cordial at first." Jack grimaces slightly at the memory. "Ice was a good word. And then... I met her. You know, I'd never expected her to be... beautiful," he says, quietly, memories of that first look at Juli still causing a slight stab to his heart. "I don't know why, it just... didn't occur to me."  
  
"Oh," Christian whispers. _Beautiful young woman, small child, blood relative... a ready-made family._ He fights the urge to bite his thumbnail. _And obviously, an attraction._  
  
"Of course, she'd been hurt terribly by Michael," Jack says, and for some reason he's not surprised by the bitterness in his tone about that. "It took so much convincing for them to agree to let Stephen meet my mother. They thought we wanted to take him away, not be a part of his family, as we should have been all along."  
He doesn't interrupt. Obviously something changed between then and now, and he's willing to bet, at this point, that Jack is bi, not gay.  
  
"I got to know Juli, she's a wonderful person, a great mother, her age didn't change that," Jack says. "Except there was always something between us. She couldn't see past my brother."  
  
"Are you..." Christian isn't sure how to ask the question, but he has to try. "Am I sharing you with her?"  
  
"No," Jack says. "We never quite... did get past everything."  
  
"But... you wanted to?"  
  
"We did, both of us. There was always this feeling that maybe in a couple of years... until..." he takes a deep breath. "Until I met you."  
  
Something clicks. "She... you told her. About me." He moves the pillow off his lap. "She's the person you told."  
  
"Yes," Jack says. "I had to. I wanted her to hear it from me, and in person. And that's when I knew, Christian."  
  
"That's when you knew," Christian echoes. "That ended it, didn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it did," Jack says. "And I knew that if.. if I felt it was right to cut off the possibility? That it meant that we were..."  
  
Christian rubs his temples. "Are you sure that was wise?" he whispers.  
  
"It was what felt right," Jack says. "I don't... that feeling is gone with her. It was there, it could have been real, but there were too many complications. And yes, I am aware of the irony."  
  
"Out of the frying pan with that one, weren't you?" Christian snorts. He shakes his head. "What did you tell her?"  
  
"Just a little," Jack laughs too.  
  
"I told her that I'd met someone and that, well... it was enough to tell her about, if that makes sense. That whether or not it worked out, we couldn't." He chuckles softly. "If you will, I broke up with her."  
  
"For me," Christian whispers, slightly stunned. "After... how many years?"  
  
"Five," Jack says, "give or take a few months. I just... I knew. She even said it was serious for me before I could admit it to myself."  
  
"I... I don't know what to say."   
  
"Say that you believe that I won't go," Jack says. He doesn't know if Christian can, but maybe....  
  
He closes his eyes. Jack's asking for more belief than Christian has ever been able to put in another person, except maybe Liam. Maybe. "I... I believe you think you won't go." He thumps his head back against the headboard. "That's the best I can do right now," he apologises softly.  
  
"That's enough for now," Jack says, and he believes it will just take time for Christian to believe him completely. "I think I wish you were here even more than I did when I said it before."  
  
"Me too," Christian whispers. "Or that you were here."  
  
"I could be," Jack says. "If Liam would allow it."  
  
Christian exhales in a rush. "Too soon," he says, thinking about his wrists, and Adam, and how he doesn't have any of it even close to worked out in his head. "A visit, maybe... but not overnight."  
  
"I wasn't thinking overnight," Jack says. "But to see you... just to be in the same room instead of like this..."  
  
"Yeah," whispers Christian. "I'd like to see you. For the third time." He can't help but smile and blush a bit when he says it. It sounds ridiculous, that they're talking about things like _love_ and _forever_ after two meetings, neither of which had been physical.  
  
"Third time... it could be the charm," Jack can't resist. "Don't you think?" he didn't even realise that's all it's been. "Wow. This is... wow." He's incoherent too, great.  
  
Christian chuckles. "What?"  
  
"Three times. That's all, and... here we are. Talking about.... this stuff. And it's okay. Isn't it?" he hopes so.  
  
"Yeah," breathes Christian. "Yeah. It is."  
  
"Good," Jack says, his breathing increasing a little too. Adrenaline pumping through his veins. It's good. It's right. "You know, my mum will adore you," he says. "When you meet her."  
  
"I doubt it," Christian mumbles. It's hard to imagine someone else's mother adoring him when his own doesn't.  
  
"She just wants me to be happy," Jack says. "We had that talk a while ago. I've been out since before I was at uni... thought I was gay then, figured it was best to prepare the family. So if you make me happy - and believe it or not, you do - she'll love you."  
  
Christian chuckles self-consciously.  
  
"I love your laugh," Jack says. "Haven't heard it enough, though."  
  
That makes him laugh again. "It's... silly."  
  
"Your laugh, or what I said, or both?" Jack asks, chuckling himself.  
  
"My laugh. Both." He lowers his head and grins, even though he thinks it makes him look like an idiot. "For me, it's your smile," he whispers after a moment of comfortable silence.  
  
Of course that makes him smile. "Yeah? I wish you could see it right now." There's a sense of peace right now. A sense of rightness. It's deeper than it's been before.  
  
"Me too," he whispers.   
  
"Should I take a photo?" Jack says, lightly.  
  
"Would you?" Christian laughs. "Or video it, from all angles."  
  
"I will," Jack says. "Anything you want that's in my power, it's yours."  
  
"Anything? Aren't you an Earl? Isn't that a dangerous thing to offer a Welshie?"  
  
Jack laughs. "What's mine is yours."  
  
That makes him inhale sharply.   
  
"Christian?"   
  
"Yeah?" he replies in an unsteady voice.  
  
"Did I... say something I shouldn't?" He honestly doesn't know.  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"Too soon, maybe?"  
  
"A little bit, yeah," Christian nods.   
  
"Sorry, was caught up in the moment," Jack says quietly.  
  
"S'okay, so was I." Christian shifts on the bed. "So... what are you doing tomorrow night?"  
  
"What's... Oh, New Year's. I.. don't have any plans."  
  
"No? Nothing going on at the Mansion that you want to go to?"  
  
"God, no, didn't we already go over that?" Jack shudders. "Not without you anyway."  
  
He picks at his pillow. "I'm not sure what's going to be happening here. Liam's boyfriend is here."  
  
"That sounds... awkward?" Jack says. "Unless you'd like your... you know we never did figure that out. Me there."  
  
Christian chuckles. "Awkward's one word for it. Not so much for me, but for   
Chris. And... I'll drop a hint to Liam. See what he thinks."  
  
"I do feel for Chris," Jack says. "I imagine we've had some of the same feelings of confusion in all this. And you said he was young?" He wishes for a second that he could just turn up.. but he can't. "Okay. Let me know."  
  
"I will. Or he will. Someone will, at any rate." He pushes the pillow away, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "I should go. Do some more cleaning, or something."  
  
"Thanks. Yeah, I guess I should get back to the fascinating reports from the estate. Did you know we had six more bushels of potatoes from one of the home farms last year?" Jack says it like it's the most scandalous gossip.  
  
Christian can barely keep up with the act for fighting back laughter. He mock-gasps. "No - really?" he snickers.   
  
"Really," Jack says. He's glad to have heard Christian's laugh again.  
  
He presses the button to hang up. That's a good last memory of this talk.  
  


  


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_**New Year, Part 1 [Liam, Christian, Jack, Chris]**_  
Liam slips his hands into a pair of oven mitts and takes a pan of small cheese quiches out of the oven. They're cliche, yes, but at least their scratch-made. Some are vegetarian, for Chris, and the rest have bits of bacon in them. Christian is busy arranging cut-up raw veggies onto a couple of trays, each of which has a well of dip in the center, one spinach and one onion. Liam sets the quiches on a rack to cool and slides the cheese puffs in their place, shutting the oven door with a click. The second oven has a honey-almond cheesecake that's almost ready to come out, and there's a kettle of hot cider on the stove.   
  
He straightens and takes a look around. There are juices, soft drinks, beer and some Scotch in the fridge, along with both champagne and sparkling apple cider for toasting at midnight, although personally if he and Chris are too occupied to notice the new year arriving, that'll be fine with him.  
  
Christian rearranges the onion-dip tray for the second time. He couldn't fit the mushrooms in the first time. Something has been teasing at the back of his mind for the past ten minutes, and he knows it's not nerves about Jack's visit. Liam's collar has been helping keep things under control. He looks at the trays again. Carrots, green pepper, mushrooms, cheese, celery, sticks of dark rye bread for the spinach dip.... "Master, do we have broccoli?" He knew there was something missing. He loves broccoli.  
  
"I cut that up this morning," Liam says over his shoulder. "Bottom drawer on the left in the fridge. And there's cut up mixed fruit in there too -- toss that with the sour cream dressing in the blue plastic container on the top shelf when you're done with the vegetables, please. Use the big bowl on the island, the one with the yellow stripe." Liam goes into the pantry and gets a covered bowl of Scotch eggs he made earlier. They need to be sliced and put onto a tray and then there's just the cheesecake and cookies and... they should be done.  
  
It doesn't take long for Christian to add the broccoli to each tray and toss the fruit. He steps back from the table, one hand betraying his anxiety by fluttering up to touch his collar. "Anything else, Master?" he asks politely. He'd rather ask while kneeling, but he doesn't want his legs to get in the way of their kitchen rhythm.  
  
"That'll do, lad, thank you. Hmm, you could pour me a pint if you would, and then you can go keep an eye out for company." Liam gives Christian a nod and a brief hand on his shoulder, then goes back to slicing the eggs.  
  
He pours the beer carefully, tilting the glass and gradually straightening it as the liquid approaches the top. Christian sets it near Liam, but not in the way. His hand moves to his collar again, toying with the D-ring on the front. He's wearing a thin, olive green sweater, sleeves pushed up almost to his elbows to show off the leather cuffs on his wrists. He stands just out of Liam's way, head bowed.  
  
Just as Liam finishes the eggs, the timer bings on the lower oven. He gets the cheesecake out and sets it carefully on the cooling rack, taking the slightly-cooler quiches off and putting them on the island. "If you're going to hang about anyway, you can go into the pantry and find me the jar of apricot preserves. It should be on the left, toward the top." Liam takes a pull of his beer before starting in on transferring the quiches to a tray.  
  
There's a slight hestitation before Chrisitan leaves his side, but he fetches the jar as ordered. Again, he stands silently, just off to one side, head bowed.  
  
Liam takes the jar, then glances over at him. "It's all right, lad. If you'd rather stay near, that's fine." He tugs Christian close to his side and leans against him a bit while spreading the preserves carefully into the well on top of the cheesecake, where it fell a bit when it cooled. It always does, but it's a lovely place to put preserves or chocolate or whatever else he has in mind to go there.  
  
Gratitude washes over him as he whispers, "Thank you, Master." He shouldn't be on edge, Christian tells himself, Jack's visit was his idea, but still, it's only their third meeting, and he's terrified something disasterous is going to happen. Adam will change his mind about wanting something full-time, or Chris will demand that he leave the house for the night, or Jack will come to his senses, _something_.  
  
There, the cheesecake's done and goes into the pantry in a covered cake dish for now to cool some more. Liam takes the puffs out of the oven and puts them on the rack. Everything ready is arranged on the island, along with small dishes and forks and toothpicks and lots of paper serviettes. "There, I think that's it for now." He leans back against the island with his arms loosely around Christian.  
  
Christian tilts his head up, just a bit, enough that Liam's jaw blocks out the light. These moments are precious to him, moreso for their rarity; while his Master will oftentimes touch his hair or his arm, full-body contact is something usually reserved for sleeping, and even then, he's spent a night or two on his own recently. Feeling his Master breathe, listening to his heart beat, smelling the unique scent of his skin, it all combines into a heady tranquilizer that reminds him of kneeling in the hotel room in Ireland.  
  
Liam just relaxes for a bit, holding Christian close with one arm while the other rubs gentle circles on his back. The lad seems a bit jumpy this evening. He hopes inviting Jack was the right thing to do.  
  
A soft sound escapes Christian, somewhere between a sigh and a hum of contentment.  
  
"There, lad. That's it, relax. Jack'll be here soon." Liam keeps on rubbing, moving his hand up to Christian's shoulders and rubbing back and forth from one to the other, strong hands kneading into tense muscles.  
  
He's not nervous. He isn't. It feels oddly right to be seeing Christian agian now. He isn't nervous. Not even of Liam. Much. Really. He gets out of the cab, sending the driver away. He'll call another later, and if it's the typical New Year's Eve zoo, he'll get his own driver or one of Citadel's. He shivers a bit, wondering if leaving his coat at home was a good idea, but it's too late now and he walks up to the front door of Liam's house and rings the bell.  
  
Liam cocks his head at the sound of the doorbell. "You want to get it, lad?" he asks, still rubbing Christian's shoulders.  
  
He takes a deep breath. Christian whispers, "Yes, Master," but doesn't pull out of Liam's embrace.  
  
Liam gives Christian a last hug and then steers him gently toward the door. "Go on, lad. I'll be right behind you."  
  
With a nod, he walks quickly to the entrance. He tries to still his mind, tries to keep the inner peace he had been so close to in his Master's arms, but he's practically trembling by the time he grasps the door knob.  
  
It's colder than it was earlier, he swears, rubbing his arms as he waits for someone to answer the door. But it takes his mind off the nervousness. Which he isn't feeling, really. "Hello," he says as the door opens.  
  
Christian stares at Jack, frozen and quite effectively blocking the doorway. His mouth opens, then closes without making a sound.  
  
The cold air is blowing in through the door and Christian seems to have locked up. Liam moves up behind him and says, "Jack, hello. Happy New Year," while shifting Christian to one side with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Come in before you freeze." He steps aside with Christian to let Jack enter, then closes the door behind him. "I have some hot cider if you'd like to warm up?"  
  
"Thank you," Jack says, not sure which he's responding to. "Happy New Year," he says. God, could he sound any more like.... "Cider would be wonderful," he says, with a shiver. "I don't think leaving my coat at home was a good idea." He glances at Christian, and wants... so much. But he's not going to push him. "Christian."  
  
Liam nods, gives Christian a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and withdraws to the kitchen to get Jack his drink.  
  
When Liam leaves, Christian's still just staring at Jack, eyes wide. Two steps takes care of the distance, and his arms wrap around Jack before he lets himself think about what he's doing. His right arm goes around his shoulder, the left one along Jack's ribs as he pulls him into the embrace. Christian presses himself completely against the other man, his bare feet bracketing Jack's shoes. He buries his face in the crook between neck and shoulder, and inhales deeply.  
  
He almost can't believe it when Christian comes up to him. He was about to talk, say something, anything, but finding himself with an armful of Christian, words seem unimportant. He feels how warm Christian is, shivering, and he doesn't think it's from the cold. He lets his arms come around Christian and just sighs, breathing in his scent.  
  
 _Christ, he feels so **right**._ Christian tightens his arms a little, but that's the only movement he's willing to make right now. This feels too good to let go, and he's not sure he'll have the courage to do it again later.  
  
"Think we could stay like this all night?" Jack whispers softly, scared to talk, but unable not to ask. He thinks he could. It feels so good. He's scared to do or say anything else, so he just breathes and holds Christian.  
  
"Maybe," he whispers, and _god_ the feeling of Jack's breath on his skin is making him hard. He wants to pull his hips back so Jack can't tell, but he doesn't want to move.  
  
"I'm up for it if you are," Jack says, smiling. He doesn't really expect it. They'll have to separate soon. Then he realises. "Oh." He doesn't move. Doesn't react, except for his own cock, which swells in answer. But he knows, nothing is going to happen yet. Is it? If it does, it will all be Christian's doing.  
  
As he feels Jack's cock against his own, Adam comes to mind, and he can't do it again, _can't_ because he came with Adam and then Adam left, he didn't want him anymore and he needs Jack, he _needs_ him and he's not willing to lose him, not now, not _ever_ and he'll wear one of those cages, he'll chop the goddamned thing _off_ before he loses Jack.  
  
His breathing grows more and more rapid, his heart races, and he recoils from Jack, practically pushing Jack away as he spins and runs for the kitchen.  
  
Jack almost falls over, he's sure Christian didn't even realise just how hard he pushed. How hard he pushed him away. Dammit, he shouldn't have... what shouldn't he have? He didn't say anything all... oh, bloody hell. He tries to tell himself that he couldn't help the physical reaction, especially knowing that Christian was hard too. It isn't an unnatural reaction when the man you love -- and hell yes, he knows that now if there was a second of doubt in his mind, it's been erased completely by Christian's physical presence. He wonders if he should leave now, or stay, or... what. He doesn't move, just waiting to figure out what he should do.  
  
Christian barrels into the kitchen, headed straight for the butcher's block.  
  
Liam takes one look at the expression on Christian's face and drops the mug, ignoring the steaming liquid splashing on his trousers. He intercepts the man, arms spread, and catches him in a half-hold, half-embrace, pivoting them both around so Liam's body is between the knife block and Christian. He holds on through a round of jerking and struggling, then says, "No. I don't care what happened, we'll deal with it. You're mine, remember? You're not to damage what's mine, period. I won't let you." He hangs on, his check pressed against Christian's hair and his arms holding him close, tight, secure.  
  
Liam's. Not his. Jack starts to shake. Maybe leaving is a good idea. He can go out into the snow and catch something and die. That seems like it would be less painful right now. The only reason he doesn't is that his mother would die too, and he's not going to be responsible for that. He feels sick, like he is going to throw up and that would just be the final touch. "Bathroom?" he calls out. "Liam?" He thinks he can hold it. He hopes so.  
  
"Knife, I need a knife, let me have a fucking _knife_!" Christian growls through clenched teeth. "I won't lose him, I can't lose him, I _can't lose_ him, Liam!" He continues to struggle, feet slipping in the cider.  
  
"No," Liam says, calm and inexorable. " _I_ won't lose _you._ Guess who wins?" He stands firm through Christian's struggles, keeping his arms pinned. He hears Jack's call and hollers out, "Door in front of you!" He gives Christian a brief shake, then, and adds, "See? He's not leaving. Whatever happened, we'll work it out. Calm down, lad."  
  
He should have looked, but then he runs into the room, fumbling for the light switch and barely making it to lean over the bowl. He feels everything he's eaten for the last month, or so it feels, leave his body and he falls back, breathing heavily and sweating. After a moment to catch his breath, he rinses his mouth and then his face with water. He'd like to just lock the door and stay in here, but it's not his home. Slowly, he walks out again, and he hesitates for a moment, looking at the front door. But everything in him pulls him back and he walks into the kitchen, feeling like he doesn't belong there.  
  
Christian's growls turn frantic. "You don't understand, I have to -- I need a knife, please, Liam, give me a knife, he'll leave me if I don't!" His voice grows louder and louder, until he's practically shouting in Liam's ear. "I'll come, and then he'll leave me, I have to cut it off Liam I can't lose him, I love him!" Tears form in his eyes as he continues to fight against Liam's grip. "I love him, Liam, I can't lose him, I can't, please, give me a knife!" he cries.  
  
He hears the last part as he comes into the kitchen, though he'd heard it all. "What makes you think I'll leave you if you come?" Jack asks, still trying to get his head around that.  
  
Christian tries to turn toward Jack's voice, but he doesn't have the energy to actually get free. "Adam left, he said he didn't want me and he left, because I came," he explains through his tears.  
  
"I'm not Adam," Jack says, quietly. "I want to see you come, want you to see me come, and hold you all night after. When you're ready. If you were up to it, I'd take you into the nearest bedroom right now..." he says. He knows Liam's there, but it's not like that matters, he's seen more in his life, Jack's sure, than he has. Or at least as much. Considering some of the scenes at Citadel, this is tame. "I love you and I am not leaving," he says. "Not unless you tell me you want me to and I believe you, which is going to take one hell of a lot of convincing."  
  
Christian sags in Liam's arms as the post-adrenaline shakes begin. "Don't go. I don't want you to go," he half-sobs. "Please, Jack, don't go."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," Jack replies. "I'm right here and unless Liam asks me to leave, I won't be going anywhere." It hurts to say, but again, not his house.  
  
Liam says, "No, you're welcome to stay the night if you like." He darts his eyes down toward Christian, then looks back at Jack and raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Thank you," Jack says, and moves closer, interpreting the raised eyebrow. "Christian?" he whispers softly. He holds his arms out, and waits.  
  
Liam loosens his hold on Christian, slowly and carefully. He doesn't quite trust him even now, and watches to see what he'll do.  
  
Jack watches too, on alert to see what Christian will do, if he even tries to lunge for the knives, he'll have to get through himself and Liam.  
  
The arm Christian had been using to try to push away from Liam holds on now instead. He presses against Liam's biceps, trying to hide his face as he regains control of his breathing. "Master, time out, please?" he whispers.  
  
Jack steps back, this isn't about him. He may not like it, but this dynamic is not about him.  
  
The floor is scattered with cooling cider and the broken shards of a cup. Liam looks around, then walks Christian the few steps into the pantry. He grips the lad's collar with one hand, puts the other on his shoulder and urges him to his knees. "Down, lad. Kneel for me, there you go. I'm here. Relax, breathe, quiet for a bit."  
  
Automatically, Jack starts carefully picking up the shards of china, being careful not to cut himself -- that's just what they would all need -- as he looks around for the bin. He tries hard not to listen to the words coming from the pantry.  
  
Christian resists at first, until it's clear that when Master says kneel, he kneels. His hands lie palm-up on his thighs, his head bowed. His breathing hitches occasionally as he starts to calm down.  
  
"There we go, my good lad. Relax for me. Everything's fine." Liam straightens a bit, letting go of Christian's collar and maintaining contact with a hand in his hair.  
  
Looking around, Jack finds a cloth and soaks up the now-cold cider from the floor. The mindless task helps him to not think too hard about anything else, at least for a little while. He finishes and finds a non-shattered mug pouring himself some cider. He sips it and waits. Patiently.  
  
Nearly ten minutes pass before Christian manages to get himself under control. The hand on his head helps, and when he feels he's able to face Jack again, he presses his forehead against Liam's thigh.  
  
Liam feels Christian stirring and caresses his hair. He squats down and whispers, "Feeling better, lad?" pressing a kiss to his forehead.  
  
Feeling slightly calmer now, Jack rinses his mug. Liam's words penetrate and he hopes that means he's actually been waiting for a reason. He's sure he has, but doubts are never far away.  
  
Christian nods, a bit groggy. "Jack still here?" he whispers, afraid to hope.  
  
"Of course he is, babe," Liam whispers back. "He's right there in the kitchen. He said he wouldn't leave you, remember?"  
  
He nods. Christian reaches up, places his hand on his Master's leg. "Help me up?" he asks quietly. His legs ache and he feels shakey all over.  
  
Liam grips under Christian's armpits and stands up with him, supporting and steadying him until he finds his feet.  
  
Jack's shaking too, emotion catching up. It's not as bad as it was just before Christmas, but then the storm then has probably calmed now just a little. He grips the counter tightly as he waits, sure they're moving.  
  
Leaning against Liam, Christian calls out, "Jack?"  
  
"I'm here," Jack says. "I said I wasn't leaving, remember?" He's trying to find his legs, and they seem to be working.  
  
"Could you come over here?" He wraps an arm around Liam's waist. He needs to see him, needs to know it's still real, that Jack isn't going to run.  
  
"Of course," and that's what he must have needed, because his legs are working. He makes his way to the pantry. "See," he says, half-wanting to turn around.  
  
Christian smiles weakly. "Thank you," he whispers, half to Jack, half to his Master. He lowers his eyes, unable to look at Jack while he speaks. "I'm sorry, Jack. I don't... I don't know what the hell that was. I'm sorry," he offers.  
  
"It's okay," Jack says. "I shouldn't have either..." he says. "But I suppose we are both human, aren't we?" He offers a slightly shaky smile.  
  
"That's the theory." Christian gives a tentative smile back.  
  
"Ready to try this again?" Jack asks, holding out his hand. "Hello," he says, and this time it doesn't seem too little at all.  
  
Christian laughs, self consciously tucking his face against Liam's chest. He holds out his hand. "Hello," he replies, slightly muffled.  
  
"So, what are the plans for the evening?" Jack asks, smiling a little as he watches Christian. It doesn't hurt to see him like this with Liam. He thought it would.  
  
"Well, we have one more coming soon, I think. And I hope you're hungry." Liam tilts his head toward the food arrayed on the island. "We have movies to watch, and we can watch Trafalgar square at midnight if you want. Other than that, nothing elaborate." He keeps one hand moving, caressing Christian's back as he speaks.  
  
"That sounds like a perfect evening," Jack smiles. "And I think I might be hungry, yes."  
  
"Excellent. I'd hate to see it all go to waste." Liam gives Jack a smile over Christian's shoulder. "There are more drinks in the fridge, alcoholic and non, if you're warmed up and don't want any more cider."  
  
"I think I'll stick to non-alcoholic. Wouldn't want to have a stray word fuelled by booze cause any problems," Jack says, as lightly as he can. "Thank you, Liam." It's for much more than this evening.  
  
He's realising just how much Liam has helped Christian -- and by extension himself -- through all this.  
  
Christian seems to sink into Liam's chest as the tension drains from him. "Sofa," he mutters into Liam's jumper. "And a quilt?" he asks. He feels drained, and all he really wants now is something comfortable, warm, and horizontal.  
  
'Company?" Jack asks, tentatively. "I think that sounds a great place...."  
  
"Good idea," Liam says. He leads the company back out to the living room, an arm around Christian, and gets him settled on the sofa. The closet in the entry way gives up a quilt and he brings it over and drapes it over him. He holds one end up and looks over at Jack with a questioning expression.  
  
"Christian?" Jack says, not wanting to do anything he doesn't want. His instinct is to go right under there of course, but....  
  
Christian nods. "I'll try not to freak out on you," he says quietly.  
  
Jack smiles and moves to the sofa, smiling gently. "If you do, I'll just call Liam. I promise," he says, though he knows he'll try to calm him first and he knows that Liam and Christian know this too.  
  
"Thanks," Christian whispers, nodding in acknowledgement of how hard this must be for Jack.  
  
Liam tucks them both in with a lopsided smile, then asks, "Anything in particular you want to watch?"  
  
Christian shakes his head.  
  
Jack laughs, feeling slightly like a kid. "Well, I have no idea what you have in your collection," he turns to Christian. "Any ideas?"  
  
"Well, one of you pick something or I'm putting on Batman." Liam puts his fists on his hips in mock threat.  
  
Christian chuckles. "Not Batman. Did you find Swing Kids?"  
  
"Oh, you want me to turn into a dirty old man, now?" Jack grins.  
  
"I was going to sing along, but if you've got a better idea...."  
  
"Don't suppose you have Rebel Without A Cause?" he asks Liam. "It.. well, it was the movie that made me think I could do this acting thing... and even after everything, it's still... comforting."  
  
Liam nods and goes over to one of the DVD racks. He sets the machine up with the disk and puts the remote on the coffee table in front of them. "I'll let you two fight over control while I go fix a plate for you." He grins and strolls over to the island.  
  
"You," Jack says, not really caring if he or Christian has it. "Never been one to argue about the remote."  
  
Christian reaches over, hits play, and drops the remote back onto the coffee table. "There." He lays back on the couch, watching Jack. "I was afraid you wouldn't come. And then I was afraid you would," he admits with a small smile.  
  
"I wanted to," Jack replies. "I've wanted to be in the same room with you again... well, pretty much since the last time we were." He pulls at the edge of the quilt a little, restlessly. "But I'm glad I did."  
  
"Are you sure?" Christian rearranges himself slightly so that his head is propped up better on the arm of the couch, and his feet are flat on the sofa with his knees up.  
  
"Well, I could've done without the freaking out and throwing up, but... generally, yes," Jack says. "Now, definitely yes."  
  
"Hopefully that'll be a one time thing." Christian tilts his head. "I can't guarantee it, though," he adds softly.  
  
"I know. I knew what I was taking on," Jack says. "I'll endeavour not to have that reaction again, too. I mean, I hope it was that, I really don't need to get sick right now." He wonders if it could be something else, but he's sure it was that. He doesn't feel sick.  
  
"I don't want you to get sick either." On a brave impulse, he reaches out with one foot to brush Jack's thigh with his toes. "Do you get stage fright, you know, when you do something public?"  
  
"Sometimes, it depends what it is," Jack replies. "Not to the extent of throwing up...."  
  
Christian nods. "I did, when I first started."  
  
"Yeah? Do you still?" Jack asks, curious.  
  
He shakes his head. "During filming I was fine. But back when I did Empire of the Sun... I used to hide as quick as I could when we were at press events. I still don't enjoy them, but I don't have panic attacks anymore."  
  
"Ah, I know what you mean. I really do. When I have to do the boring public face of being an Earl..." he sighs. "Let's just say that it would be much better if all the angst was over something fun."  
  
"Something fun?" Christian asks with half a grin.  
  
"Anything not opening fetes," Jack groans. "Why me?"  
  
Christian laughs. "Because you're handsome, and every mother wants her daughter photographed beside you so she can pretend her son-in-law is the Earl of ... how is it called? You're Lord Huntingdon, yes?"  
  
"Yes, and the Earl of Huntingdon also. Nice little place. Too damn many fetes," Jack says. "But it's not so bad, most of the time. I do still feel like I'm pretending, though. Like it shouldn't really be mine."  
  
"I can't imagine you being anyone other than who you are," Christian says quietly. "I don't think this would work if we were both actors." He can't quite say he's not sure they're going to work regardless -- he hopes they will. Would pray it, if he believed there was anyone to pray to.  
  
That surprises Jack. "Really?" He thinks for a moment. "I do believe this might be the first time I've ever been truly happy I had to give it up."  
  
Christian shakes his head. "I'm not happy you had to give up something you loved doing, not at all... but I have enough trouble going to my own openings, and with filming schedules.... I just don't think I could manage it." He curls his toes against Jack's leg, uncurls them, strokes Jack's thigh lightly with his big toe. It's not much contact, but it's the most he can do right now.  
  
"I can see where that could end up being a problem," Jack nods, and he's surprised how damned _good_ those small strokes feel. "I just... I never felt right about it, until now. Who knows," he says. "Maybe this will help me work through some issues too."  
  
"Maybe." Christian turns his head away, looking toward the television but ignoring the movie. _Issues._ Most days, he feels like he's nothing _but_ an issue: an issue for Liam, an issue for Chris, an issue for Adam, multiple issues for Jack.... "You deserve better," he whispers. "I wish I could just... be better... for you."  
  
"I wish... I wish so many things," Jack sighs, his head moving back on the couch, exposing his neck. "I wish you hadn't..." he doesn't say it, Christian will know. "I wish I could be enough for you," he says. "Even though I get it now. I really get why you need Liam, there's still a part of me that wishes I could have been enough...."  
  
"You don't want to be a part of this, Jack."  
  
"But I do," Jack says. "I just know I couldn't, and that hurts too."  
  
Christian looks back at him. "Why?" he asks softly.  
  
"I don't know if I could have -- physically -- stopped you from getting to the knives," Jack answers. "I think I could, but what if I couldn't?"  
  
Nodding slowly, Christian presses his lips together thoughtfully. He's probably not going to get another opening like this to explain what happened in Ireland, and it's unlikely he'll feel comfortable enough to explain it, even if the conversation heads that way another time. "I got to the glass," he says softly, watching Jack's reaction warily.  
  
"What glass?" Jack asks. "When?" He's as calm as he can be, which isn't very, but he manages to keep his tone even.  
  
Christian braces his hands on the sofa and sits up. He crosses his legs, leans forward, and pulls his left cuff back as far as he can. There are twin horizontal tracks, fading now, leftovers from the handcuffs Holden had used on him, but over top are much fresher vertical red streaks, angry marks that are still mostly scabbed over.  
  
His first instinct is to lean over and kiss them, but he doesn't. "Oh, Christian..." he says. "Damn. Just. Damn." He tries to think of something to say. "Would this be what happened over Christmas?" The marks look too fresh to be more than a week old.  
  
He nods, stroking over the old wounds with his thumb. There's just enough pain to keep him steady. "I wasn't trying to..." he trails off with a shrug of one shoulder. "Not the first time. The second time, I probably was."  
  
"Second time?" Jack's arms hurt with the effort not to reach out. Literally hurt. "More than once?"  
  
"Same night. That's when Liam figured out," he tugs at his collar with two fingers, "that cinching this right up and holding me still helps calm me down."  
  
"That makes sense," Jack says. "I know when I..." he decides not to go on. "It can be calming to be tied or restrained," he says, going for something a little more neutral.  
  
Christian tilts his head. They haven't really discussed Jack's preferences yet. "When you what?"   
  
"Sometimes, if I'm feeling really tense, it can help to be tied up or... something," Jack says. "I've even done it to myself, though I have to say, it doesn't feel quite the same when I know all I have to do is move my hand the right way to get out...."  
  
Christian nods eagerly, understanding completely what Jack means. "It's the same for me, with the pain, I mean. I can do it myself, but it's just not the same, it's not as intense, because I just can't... hurt myself as well as someone else can. They can't feel it, so they don't stop as soon as I will if I'm doing it myself." He smiles.  
  
"Yes, I know what you mean," Jack nods. "It's self-preservation, and sometimes that instinct's just too strong. I feel like, if I were to try and hurt myself, I'd stop when it got uncomfortable, not when it hurt. Which is why I don't tend to do it myself."  
  
"Exactly," Christian agrees. "I'd never really tried the bondage side of things before." He shrugs. "I knew what I liked, and I stuck with it."  
  
"I've tried it, as you can probably figure out, but it's been a while... even before all this. It just... sort of got too much. Or something. And there are so many other things to explore..." he half-smiles.  
  
Christian nods slowly. "I don't know... I don't know when I'll be up for exploring, for entertainment, as opposed to for day to day survival." It's so ridiculous, he thinks, when he words it like that, but it's true. He doesn't know how he'd make it day to day without the collar, without the cuffs, without knowing that Liam has control over him.  
  
"That's okay," Jack says. "I'm sure I'll be the first to know when you are. And you know... it doesn't have to be kink. I mean, when you're ready. I'd kind of like to build up to it...." He really hopes this isn't a land mine.  
  
"Build up to...." Christian frowns and shakes his head. "I don't want this with you," he says, fingering the collar. "This is.... This is temporary. I want us... I want us to be equals. That's how we started. I don't want you to see me as weak." He's not really sure if it's what Jack meant, but he has to make sure Jack understands this now. He doesn't want to lead him on.  
  
"I didn't know what you wanted," Jack says, honestly. "I don't see you as weak, but if you'd wanted me to... I would have. I just... I didn't know. But that's not all I meant about building up..." he pauses. "I'm nervous. As hell. About being with you. Not because of what happened. But because of all we've said. All I... we... feel. It's... good, but it's also really... intense."  
  
Nodding, Christian says, "It is intense... and fast... but in a way it isn't fast at all. We've been corresponding since mid-October. We just haven't seen much of each other during that time."  
  
"Has it been that long?" Jack asks. "I wish we had..." he sighs. "I'm still... I don't feel guilty, but I do hate that the trip had such terrible timing. I do realise I probably couldn't have done anything, but... I keep thinking, if I'd got back earlier, maybe you would have been under my lash or something...."  
  
The thought makes Christian's cock twitch, but it's too soon. He shuffles back on the sofa, as far away from Jack as he can manage and still share the same piece of furniture. He pulls the quilt up as well, using it as a makeshift shield. _Slow breaths, slow breaths._ He turns his head to watch the movie, trying to get rid of the image of Jack, sweating and half-naked, with a whip in his hand.  
  
He gets the moving away thing and is quiet for a while. "Sorry," he whispers. He's not even paying attention to the movie. "I just..." he would do that, oh, yes. If Christian wanted it. "Let's dial it back a bit?"  
  
"Yeah. Please," he rasps.  
  
"It's too easy to let things going well allow too much without knowing," Jack sighs. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "So... how are you, besides the freaking out?"  
  
Christian exhales in rush, half-laughing. "There's something besides me freaking out?"  
  
"I think so," Jack smiles, glad to be back on even ground, at least right now. "You don't do it 24/7, right?"  
  
He shakes his head. "Thankfully, no. I can pretend to be normal for hours." Pretend, because when he looks closely, that's what he's been doing for over a decade now -- pretending. "Like I said on the phone... I do a lot of housework."  
  
"Pretending, yes, I know the feeling," Jack sighs. "Do you ever think normal is some kind of unknown ideal?" He nods. "Sometimes a simple task can be just what's needed to focus."  
  
"A friend of mine used to say normal was boring, and average was worse. I don't think doing housework while wearing a locked leather collar and matching leather cuffs fits the usual definition of normal though, so I'm off the hook." Christian tries to smile. "What would you like normal to be?" he asks softly.  
  
"I think you might be right," Jack does smile. Then he thinks. "You, me, fireplace, brandy, my place in Scotland where no one will interrupt us for at least a week...."  
  
Christian nods. "I like quiet." He leans sideways, pressing his shoulder against the back of the sofa. A quiet place with Jack, away from everyone... it sounds ideal.  
  
"Quiet is a very good thing," Jack agrees. "When you're ready, if I have to tell people I'm dead, we'll do that, okay?"  
  
"Don't you think they might get suspicious when you keep walking around?"  
  
"I'll just say it was a misdiagnosis," Jack laughs. "I don't know."  
  
Snickering, Christian stretches out one leg again under the quilt. "Yes, because that happens all the time."  
  
"I'd like to hide with you for a while," Jack says. "It's not even about..." he doesn't say it. "I just want to be somewhere with you where there's no pressure and no expectations of anything but being with you. And if I have to do weird stuff to get that? I will. For us."  
  
"Us." How long has it been since he's been part of an _us_ that wasn't about his career or his bank account? "That's a big word."  
  
"For two small letters, it is," Jack agrees. "But it's... right. And you're not freaking out..." he says, quietly.  
  
He shakes his head. "Told you, I can pretend to be normal." Stretching his toes, he brushes Jack's leg. "Besides... I like the idea of us."  
  
"I do too," Jack smiles. "You know, you really are..." he hesitates. "You're the only one who I've ever really been able to see myself with when I have grandkids."  
  
 _Grandkids?_ "Is there something I should know?" Christian asks, one eyebrow raised. He's pretty certain if Jack had kids, he'd have mentioned it by now.  
  
He realises what Christian means. "No... only kid in my life is Stephen, though I guess he could count, really. He does tend to think of me as his father. I just mean... long term."  
  
"I could see that. You and me. I don't know how your nephew's going to take it."  
  
"That's kind of up in the air, but we'll work on that," he says. "I just... I want you to know this. I'm not leaving for these reasons. That I see us as... and I know it's a long time. Forever."  
  
Christian regards him thoughtfully for a moment. "Did you finish a single thought in that?" he teases with a grin.  
  
"I have no idea," Jack replies. "My thoughts tend to be scattered when it comes to you, figuring out what to say, what's too much, and I get that wrong so often. It's just easier to stumble than to fall, or something."  
  
"Relax." Christian reaches out his left hand, and strokes it down the side of Jack's arm, shoulder to elbow. He lets his hand fall to the blanket, close enough that Jack can touch him if he wants, but far enough away that he shouldn't feel like he has to. It's taking a lot for him to do this, but it has to start somewhere, he reasons.  
  
"I'm trying," Jack says. He shivers when Christian touches him. Such little touches and he can affect Jack so deeply. And yes, he notices and softly strokes his fingers over the back of Christian's hand.  
  
"What... what can I do to help?" He turns his hand palm up. "Aside from not freaking out, that is."  
  
"I don't know. I feel like asking anything is too much," Jack says. "Beyond what I've already asked, at least. It feels like such a... gift when you have a good reaction."  
  
"It feels a bit like that for me too," Christian replies softly.  
  
"Just... if possible, don't shut me out. I know there are things you need from Liam that you can't get from me, but... I have been feeling very shut out of it all. If you could let me in more..." he touches Christian's palm, still hesitant and soft. "That's really all I need."  
  
"I don't mean to shut you out, Jack. I'm not... I'm not sure what I can do to make you feel more involved."  
  
"Tonight is a start," Jack says quietly. "Beyond that, we'll work it out. Together."  
  
Christian nods slowly. "When... when did you feel shut out?" Had Faith felt shut out? If she'd been included in the Citadel side of his life, would he be getting a divorce?  
  
"Mostly when you weren't in contact," Jack replies. "It hurt. A lot."  
  
"I'm sorry," Christian whispers. "It... it took some time to get settled in, get into a routine I felt secure in...."  
  
"I know, I do, but I can't help my emotions either," Jack says. "Intellectually I knew why. Emotionally...."  
  
He can't pull his hand away now, _can't_ or Jack will see it as him withdrawing, but _christ_ it's taking a lot of effort to leave it where it is.  
  
He notices Christian's stiffening and the withdrawal of his body. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.  
  
He shakes his head slowly. "We're way into the yellow, but... I don't... I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"You won't," Jack says. "I don't want to hurt you. Do what you need. I promise, I won't take it personally."  
  
He curls in on himself, pulling both arms and legs back under the quilt. He fidgets with his collar, tugging on the ring in the front. "I don't want to lose you," he whispers.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere," Jack says, his tone as soothing as he can make it. He can handle this. "I'm not going anywhere, Christian. I'm right here. As close as you need me to be."  
  
"What about as far away?" Christian looks up at Jack.  
  
That hurts. Jack can't even stop it showing. But he manages to reply. "If it's what you need."  
  
"Sometimes...." Christian nods slowly. "Sometimes it is. Sometimes it will be. But not always."  
  
"For better or worse," Jack says, not even thinking of the words. "I can handle it."  
  
"Wha-what?" Christian asks. "What did you say?"  
  
"I can handle it?" Jack says. "I have so far...." He knows it isn't what Christian means but he's taking it carefully.  
  
Christian frowns a little. "You know what I meant."  
  
"For better or worse," Jack says again. "I didn't mean to let it slip out, but yes. I do... feel that."  
  
His brow furrows. "We don't even know yet when I'll be able to sleep in a different room than Liam for three nights running without having nightmares... I think we're in the 'worse'."  
  
"That I can't disagree with," Jack says.  
  
"If this isn't the worst... I'd just like to apologise now. Get it out of the way."  
  
"I think it would be very difficult to get any worse than this," Jack says. "I mean..." he wasn't going to say that, he really wasn't. "This hurts... deep in my chest, it's a physical pain."  
  
"I wish I could take it away, but leave me in there somehow," Christian whispers. Jack's going to leave him. It's not a shock, just a quiet inevitibility. No one could put up with this. Not for long.  
  
"You will be in there long after it goes," Jack answers, his voice not quite breaking.  
  
"Christ, I hope so," he whispers, closing his eyes. _This is so much easier over the telephone._  
  
"You will," Jack says. "I know it."  
  
He can't do it anymore. "Yellow," he whispers. Christian's fists clench in the quilt. _Fuck! One conversation, one fucking conversation, and I can't do it!_  
  
"What do you need?" Jack asks, softly. "Me to go? Quiet? Liam?"  
  
"Last two." Christian's voice is muffled by the quilt, but loud enough to hear. "You stay."  
  
"Okay. Liam?" Jack calls out, pretty sure he's within hearing distance. "Christian needs you."  
  
  
[Continued [here](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/8887.html).]

  


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|  | cit_liam ([](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/profile)[ **cit_liam**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/) ) wrote,  
@ [2006](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2006/)-[01](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2006/01/)-[23](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/2006/01/23/) 08:20:00   
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_**New Year, Part 2 [Liam, Christian, Jack, Chris]**_  
[Continued directly from [here](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/8590.html).]  
  
Liam's already halfway across the room. He's been puttering in the kitchen since he came back down from changing his trousers, giving the boys some privacy. But their voices had carried and another couple of strides bring him up to the sofa. He sets a plate of food he'd assembled for them down on the coffee table and then lays a hand on Christian's knee. "What is it, babe?" he asks, his tone low and gentle.  
  
Jack stays silent, letting Christian speak when he can. He would tell Liam, but it isn't his place and he might get it wrong. So he just sits, plucking at the quilt with his fingers.  
  
Christian stares at Jack for a moment, then looks up at Liam. _I can't do this,_ he thinks, but no words come out.  
  
When Christian just stares at him, looking lost, Liam goes down on one knee, getting down to eye level. He moves his hand from Christian's knee to his shoulder, brushing up against the collar with his thumb. "Tell me, lad. What do you need? It's all right, I'm here, you're safe."  
  
Dark blue eyes are a haven, one that Christian desperately seeks. Looking into his Master's eyes, his Master's hand on his collar, it's easier to focus, easier to get his bearings, sort out his thoughts. Liam is Protection, and Sanctuary, and Unconditional Care. He leans forward, into Liam's arms, rests his head on Liam's shoulder. "Tell him he can't love me," Christian whispers. "He can't."  
  
Liam's arms go around Christian, one staying up at his throat, at the collar, and he rocks him slowly. "I can't tell him that, babe," he whispers back. "Only Jack can say whom he loves. Maybe he _does_ love you. Have you thought about that?"  
  
Jack can't hear what they're saying, it's like there's a veil between them, or something that's cutting out the sound. He feels like he can't move, if he moves he'll disturb Christian and he doesn't want to do that.  
  
Christian shake his head. "He can't."  
  
"Of course he can. And he can help me convince you that you're worth loving, worth having. Now that there are two of us, you'll have to believe us eventually," Liam says in a gently kidding voice, but he's not really joking.  
  
"What will he have to believe?" Jack asks, quietly. If it's wrong, right now he doesn't care. "I didn't hear all of that," he adds. "But I got the part about Christian not believing something."  
  
Liam looks over at Jack. "Christian doesn't believe he's worth loving. Therefore no one can, and anyone who thinks they do must be mistaken. You'll have to help me convince him otherwise."  
  
"I've been having a lot of trouble convincing him of that," Jack nods. "But I'm not giving up, because I do. And I know you love him too. Seeing you..." he nods. "You love him."  
  
Even as much as he knows his Master cares, knows his Master believes he's worth having, he knows the truth. "Master doesn't love his slave," he whispers, barely audible, his voice cracking near the end.  
  
"Master does indeed love his slave," Liam corrects him. "Not the same way Jack does, no, but Master does. Trust me, babe, I wouldn't do this for just anyone."  
  
Christian shakes his head. _No._ "Master doesn't." It hurts, it hurts so _fucking_ much, but all those years with Faith taught him something. "No," he whispers.  
  
"Contradicting your master?" Liam raises an eyebrow and tightens his hug. "I say I do, lad, and that's the end of it."  
  
Jack wishes he could say that. But at the same time he doesn't, quite. Just that it would be good to be able to put it the way Liam did. If Jack said it, though, Christian would find a way to not believe him.  
  
 _Red_ he mouths, starting to shake, but the word gets caught in his throat. He tries to pull away from Liam's grip, but part of what makes Liam "Master" is the physical advantage Liam has over him.  
  
He braces his hands against Liam's chest, and pushes. "Red," he manages to whisper this time.  
  
Liam sighs, presses a kiss in to his hair and slowly releases him. It's a bad habit to get into but if Christian thinks he can reinforce his delusion that no one could possibly love him by using his safeword whenever someone tries to express love, that'd be just as harmful. Liam'll work on his getting his safeword reflexes re-sharpened later. For now, his concern is Christian.  
  
Jack knows he can't convince Christian right now, so he just sits, watching carefully, as Liam takes care of him. He wonders if he could really do that, if he were called on to. He'd like to think he could, but even just watching can be so very painful, he has a lot of self doubt.  
  
Christian nearly trips over the quilt in his headlong rush to leave the room. Arms wrapped around his torso, he flees, but he can't outrun the furious swell of conflicting emotion. _Master doesn't love me, can't, loves Chris,_ and for a split second he hates Chris with every fibre of his being. He runs up the stairs, two at a time. _Jack barely even knows me,_ as his fist connects with the wall at the top of the staircase. _Faith never loved me,_ as he slams the door to his room, rattling the mirror and a framed piece of cover art from a game Liam designed.  
  
He clears the top of his bureau with the photo of Faith and his father in mind, slams his hip into it with his father's words, _ugly_ and _nancy_ and _useless_.  
  
"Is it ever going to get easier?" Jack wonders aloud, not necessarily speaking to Liam but not necessarily _not_ speaking to him. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the sofa.  
  
Liam's up the stairs too fast for Jack's words to be more than mumbling; he'll worry about what he missed later but right now he's following the slams and bangs and crooked pictures to Christian's room. He pauses in the doorway with his fists on his hips and his head cocked to one side. "At least you're trying to break the furniture instead of yourself. That's progress, lad, and I mean it. Finished?"  
  
Christian is whumping a pillow over and over against the edge of the bureau by the time Liam reaches the door, cursing and grunting with effort. As Liam speaks, the strained cushion seams let go, spewing bits of foam into the air.  
  
It's a mess but pillows are cheap, and scattered foam is easier to clean up than blood, so Liam's content. "Good lad," he says, honest praise in his voice. "If you need to get it out of your system that's exactly the right way to do it. Finished? If you need another, there's one up in the closet on the shelf."  
  
Panting, Christian considers it, but his arms ache, his hip hurts, and none of the pain is helping. He looks down at the floor at the mess of polyfill, emotionally exhausted and physically sore, and drops onto the foot of the bed. He leans over until he sits with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands.  
  
"There, babe, it's all right." Liam steps over in front of him and gathers him close, pulling Christian's cheek to rest against his stomach. He runs a hand through the lad's hair and just holds him for a while.  
  
Again, Jack wonders if he should just leave. If he didn't think Christian would take it as an immediate rejection, he probably would. Not because it would be easier on him, but because it would probably be easier on Christian and Liam  
  
He rubs the bridge of his nose, pain bursting in his head as he considers the options, or lack of them.  
  
He doesn't feel like he's accomplished anything. If anything, Christian feels worse, and hadn't he just told Jack he didn't think it could get worse? He surveys the room through splayed fingers after raising his head slightly. He still doesn't feel... _finished_ , hasn't managed to find the release he needs. Another wave of hatred washes over him, this time at Holden, for taking beautifully painful fucking away from him and replacing it with terror and uncertainty.  
  
Christian _needs_ , has to find something that works before he starts screaming, because he's not sure he'll ever be able to stop. Shaking hard, he pulls out of Liam's arms, and drops to his knees on the floor with a thump.  
  
The lad's still and quiet but he doesn't feel calm. Liam inserts one finger underneath the collar and runs it back and forth slowly, not really tightening it but rather just playing with it, a focus of attention on this mark of ownership. "You don't look happy, babe. Tell me what you need."  
  
Jack's shivering, and scared to move, but also scared to stay put. He knows there isn't exactly an etiquette for this but it's damned difficult to know what to do half the time. Should he stay here, should he eat?  
  
What was the right thing to do? It's been a rare time in his life when he hasn't known what to do, even in a situation he's not familiar with, but this... it's worse than when his father and brother died. There's a ritual to mourning and none for this.  
  
Chris pays the driver and gathers his things, then turns and looks up at the house. Liam's house. The lights are on, upstairs as well as down, and the place looks welcoming and warm. He shifts his weight and tightens his hold on the paper bag tucked in the crook of one arm. He'd never come to a party empty-handed and the man who'd sold him the four-pack from a brewery so old they claimed King Charles II had drunk their beer had joked that it was so dark he should hand out forks with it. That makes it perfect for Liam. At least, Chris hopes he'll like it.  
  
Come on, go. Sidewalk, steps, door. He walks up and rings the bell.  
  
"I don't know," Christian whispers miserably. "Something... hard." Sex -- good sex -- used to be rough, and taxing, used to push his body and mind and soul.  
  
Without even thinking about it, Jack gets up to answer the door. He's sure Liam won't mind. And it gives him something to do besides stare at the walls or the DVD menu.  
  
Opening the door, he plasters a polite, welcoming look on his face. "Liam's a little busy, but I'm sure he won't mind my letting you in," he says to the young man. He's sure he's Liam's boyfriend, Chris.  
  
"I'm Jack," he says, holding out a hand to shake, while moving back to allow the young man to come in.  
  
"Thank you. Jack. Umm, hi, I'm Chris." He shakes hands, a little startled and struggling to catch up. Liam had mentioned that Christian's friend Jack would be here tonight but Chris hadn't expected him to be the one answering the door.  
  
He steps inside and looks around but the entry and what he can see of the living room are normal, no sign of anything dire. "I brought some beer," he says, lifting the bag. "I'll go put it in the kitchen."  
  
As he walks through the living room, though, he sees that the TV's on, just sitting at the top menu of some DVD, and there's a rucked-up quilt on the sofa. The scene speaks of something interrupted and he wonders what happened.  
  
He pulls against the collar, hoping his Master will hang on, give him something to strain against, something that will hurt.  
  
Liam adds two more fingers to the one under the collar and lets Christian tug. "I've got you. I'm not letting go." Something heavy is sitting in the pit of his stomach and he hopes this won't have to go too far, that just pulling against the collar for a while will be enough to settle the lad. But he asked him what he needed and Christian told him, and if it turns out it's _not_ enough then his gut is telling him he'll have to do whatever it takes to give his slave what he needs. The same gut that's recoiling at the thought and isn't that just perfect? He pulls back on the collar, fighting with him, and just a bit, with himself.  
  
There's relief at Liam's words, but a building sense of dread as well, that nothing is going to work, that it won't be enough, and it makes him more tense instead of less. Christian squirms against the collar, trying to at least chafe himself on the cinched-up leather, but the lining is designed to prevent just that. He pulls harder, hoping the pressure on his throat will help, but it's just not enough, not _right_. The dull sensation isn't what he needs. He whines in frustration, fists clenching, leaving little half-moons imprinted on his skin.  
  
"It's good to meet you," Jack says, feeling distinctly weird but his public face training stands him in good stead. "Can't say I don't wish the circumstances weren't different, though." He doesn't want to dwell on that too much, so he tries to think of something to talk about. "You're an actor too, right?" There's something vaguely familiar about Chris, it tugs on Jack's memory but he's not quite sure if he's seen him in something or just on endless magazine covers.  
  
Chris nods as he sets the beer down on the counter and his messenger bag on one of the stools, publicity habits drawing him up and tilting his head back slightly, a bit of Johnny's cocky expression showing on his face. It feels good -- comfortable -- in a sort of awkward situation to be able to fall back on his acting for a minute. He grins at Jack and says, "I played the Human Torch in the Fantastic Four movie recently. I've done a few other things too, but usually when people recognize me it's from that."  
  
The tension is fair radiating from Christian now and it's clear that what they're doing isn't helping at all. The little frustrated noises the lad's making just add to the feeling of inevitability. He needs you, Liam snaps at himself. So help him!   
  
"All right, that's enough, stop." He calls a halt to the futile jerking by pressing Christian's head against him for a moment, unconsciously cuddling even now. "It's not enough, is it, babe?" He lowers his voice and closes his eyes. Do it! "Do you need me to hurt you?" he whispers.  
  
Christian sags against him. "Master, please," he whispers. His hands move up Liam's legs until he finds enough loose fabric that he can clutch it in his hands. "Please."  
  
"Of course," Jack nods. He'd taken Stephen, it had been pleasant fun. He'd even vaguely wondered if he'd have ever taken a role like that, but he usually did when he saw movies, just wondering, if his life had taken a different path, would he have been successful or not. "This is vaguely awkward," he says, a tight smile on his face. He feels for Chris, knows he must be feeling some of the same things he is.  
  
The smug tilt falls away from Chris's head and he looks down for a moment, nodding. "Yeah, it is. I'm glad I'm not alone, though." He glances up toward the ceiling. "Is... is he all right?"  
  
"Hush, babe. I will." Liam presses him close -- reassuring whom, though? -- then looks around. He'd rather not take this to the playroom; he's still hoping that it won't be that formal, that intense. That it's just a one-time thing.  
  
Huh. Fat chance of that. You're fooling yourself, boyo. Never smart in a scene. Just face it head-on and do it.  
  
Liam's jaw clenches, then he releases Christian and takes a step back unbuckling his belt. "Take off your shirt, lad, and lean over the bed, hands on the mattress."  
  
Christian scrambles to do as he's told. Good slaves get rewarded -- isn't that how it goes? He was good, his Master said so, and now he can have his reward. The sweater catches for a moment on his collar, and he's left flailing for a second, arms in the air, but then he unhooks it from the buckle and sends the garment flying across the room. He flattens his torso to the bed, thighs pressed against the vertical edge of the mattresses at the foot in a way he _knows_ is going to make his calves cramp, and he wants it so desperately that he's practically giddy. Christian spreads his arms, and turns his head so he can see his Master. He smiles, free, finally.  
  
"You have no idea how much I wish I could say yes," Jack says. "It's like one moment we're talking and things are great and the next he's freaking out and I'm throwing up or not sure where to put myself."  
  
"I mean, I was prepared for things to be hard," he whispers, more to himself than Chris. "Sorry," he says. "I'm sure you've been through some of this too."  
  
Throwing up...? Chris realizes he's staring and glances down for a second. "Yes," he whispers back. "I just... never know what to do around Christian. I don't want to upset him or anything but I just don't know what to say or how to treat him or how to act when I'm here. I'd love to help but I don't think I can and it's... yeah. Hard." He looks at Jack and they share a look of understanding, like two strangers caught up together in a flood or something.  
  
Liam doubles his belt over in his hand, holding the buckle and the end in a tight grip -- too tight, before he forces himself to relax. You can do this. You know how. Focus.  
  
He runs his free hand up and down Christian's back, reassuring himself that he's strong and healthy, well muscled. He can take this without any problem and Liam knows how to beat someone without doing actual damage. But knowing isn't the problem, is it then?  
  
Focus. Do it.  
  
Liam's face goes blank and he raises his hand, bringing the doubled-over end of the belt down on Christian's back with a loud thwack.  
  
It's hard to tell if the almost-scream is a sound of pleasure or pain, but knowing Christian, it's probably both.  
  
It's like fire racing over his skin, and he arches up, ready for the second strike as soon as the belt leaves his skin after the first one. _One,_ Christian counts in his mind. _Two_ is just as perfect as one had been. _Three_ makes him gasp, and he tries to tell himself he won't hump the bed, he and Master don't have that kind of relationship, but _Four_ is so close to orgasmic that he nearly changes his mind. A thick section of his back is beet red, hot to touch, and he waits eagerly for the fifth, panting and ready.  
  
"Try being in love with him," Jack says, and then he hears it. Oh. _Fuck._ He'd know that sound anywhere. Has had many thoughts of hearing it with Christian. Sometime. "Would you like something to eat?" he asks, trying to at least keep Chris from figuring it out, but knowing that it's probably pointless.  
  
Chris hears... something. At first he's distracted, trying to figure out what that noise is. It sounds like a drawer slamming or something heavy dropped on the floor. Then suddenly it resolves, like a modern painting or a weird photo that suddenly snaps into focus. It's the sound of a beating and since Jack's here in the kitchen with him it's obvious who must be beating whom except Chris doesn't want to even _think_ about it much less witness it, even at one remove like this.  
  
I have to leave, flows through his mind. I can't be here, it's too much it's too intimate no one else should be here when they're doing that I shouldn't have to hear that....  
  
But he's just standing there, staring at Jack, not moving at all.  
  
Five, Liam thinks, laying it on hard but careful. He's spacing the strokes out so none of them overlap, covering Christian's back in thick, red stripes, even and parallel. His focus is on his technique because if he thinks too hard about exactly what he's doing in a larger context he's going to be sick. So instead he remembers his lessons -- stance, grip, swing, focus. One more, _thwack!_ and that's six and that's enough, plenty. The lad's back is an angry, burning red and Liam can hear the joy in his shrieks. That's enough.  
  
Staring back at Chris, Jack falls silent, listening with sick fascination to the sounds coming from upstairs. "I really have no idea what to say," he starts. He's not angry, he's just... numb. Again.  
  
Christian, drunk on adrenaline and endorphins, arches his back, waiting for the next blow, but it never comes. His back is on fire, and it's what he's needed, what he's missed.  
  
He turns his head to look at Liam, pants, "Please, Master." He turns his face to the mattress, and spreads his legs a little more. He was right -- his calf muscles hurt almost as much as his back does.  
  
Liam shakes his head. "That's enough, lad. You can't see your back but I can. You'll be feeling that for a good while yet." He reaches out and runs his nails lightly down Christian's spine, across the stripes, feeling the heat even just through his fingertips, then closes his hand around his upper arm and draws him up to his feet.  
  
He has to stop himself from tugging him clear down to the bathroom where the aloe gel lives these days and instead asks, "Would you like me to put something on that for you?"  
  
Chris shakes his head. That's a really great gesture. It means so many things if you think about it. "I don't either," and, "There's nothing _to_ say," and "I can't handle this," and, "This shouldn't be happening," and, "I don't know what to do," and a dozen other "don't," "can't," "not" things that are swirling through his mind. What he actually says is, "Would you like a drink?" before heading for the fridge.  
  
"Yes," Jack says, words still being difficult about coming out. "Something strong... does Liam keep vodka in the freezer?" He knows he could check but he guesses that Chris needs something to focus on. The sounds from upstairs have stopped, he realises, sometime later, could be a few minutes, could be a few seconds. He reaches for a couple of glasses and puts them down on the counter a little too heavily.  
  
Christian tries to stand, but his legs aren't cooperating. He trembles as he shakes his head, clinging to his Master's arm for support. He looks up into blue eyes with something akin to worship ( _Liam, oh god, it's Liam_ ), and remembers his Master likes aftercare, made Christian amend the contract, and he wants to please his Master, has to, so his Master will reward him again with another beating. He changes his mind and nods. "Please, Master," he whispers. He can't think, can barely string two words together, but _Please, Master_ is always the right thing to say. _Please, Master_ will put Liam's hands on his back again. No matter how lightly he touches, it's going to hurt.  
  
Liam steadies him with an arm around his shoulders, holding him firmly. It'll hurt, but less than if he tried to hold him lightly and he slipped and dragged skin against skin. He just stands there for a few moments, waiting while Christian finds his legs, then slowly walks with him down the hall to the bathroom. He has him sit straddling the toilet, facing the wall, while Liam gets the aloe gel and smooths a big dollop across his back. His hand is light and gentle but he can tell it still hurts.  
  
"Yes, I think so," Chris says. He walks across the kitchen, his legs moving on their own, and gets a clear bottle out of the freezer. He pours a splash into one of the party glasses Liam has out on the counter and hands it to Jack, then puts the bottle back. He gets a bottle of sparkling cider out of the refrigerator and fills a glass for himself, carefully pouring down the side like he would with beer to prevent the foam bubbling up all over the countertop. He takes a sip and then wanders over to the island where all the food's laid out and starts nibbling.  
  
Jack follows, sipping at the vodka, sighing as it burns down his throat. He feels like he should say something but isn't sure what. What do you say to the boyfriend of your partner's master anyway? He does actually half-laugh at that, but stifles it before the sound is identifiable. Falling back on the obvious, he asks, "So, you're from the States originally?"  
  
Christian's awareness has been reduced to three things: Master's hand on his back, cold porcelain against his chest, and the hard cock between his legs. The cold of the toilet's water tank is uncomfortable, and not in a good way, so he leans back into Liam's touch. He slips one hand down into the extra space between him and the tank, braces it against the seat, and rocks his cock lightly against the leather cuff around his wrist. His eyes flutter closed as his head tips forward. When he exhales, the sound starts as a sigh, then turns into a moan.  
  
"Please, Master," he whispers.  
  
"Go ahead, babe," Liam whispers back. "Whatever you need." After what he's done, having the lad wank while he's tending to his back is so minor it's not even worth thinking about, much less fretting over. He ignores Christian's front and continues tending to his back, leaning over to smooth more gel on the lowest of the stripes, making sure there's an even layer from side to side. It's surprisingly easy to maintain his distance. Or, not surprising, not really. What would be difficult would be digging deep enough to find any feelings in him at the moment because right now they're all cowering under the bed, down in the basement of his mind.  
  
"Yes, I am," Chris says with a nod. "Boston, actually. You know, the tea party...?" The second the words are out of his mouth he's cringing inside. Way to be tactful. You're in England, remember??  
  
That gets an actual smile. "I think I had ancestors there," Jack replies. "I'd have to look it up. But that's a nice area. Haven't been there much recently, but I had friends who went to college at Harvard and I used to visit them." It's a good memory. "But in recent years it's been mostly New York. Business."  
  
Gradually, Christian's breathing grows more erratic, more ragged, and he presses harder against the hand on his back. He can't keep his eyes open, it feels too good, too _pure_ ; he fumbles with his zipper, scrapes his cock on the teeth, wraps his fist around it, _so good, so good,_ and for the first time he's part of that _good_ ness, not a slut, not a whore, not dirty, the pain is cleansing and he falls backwards, trusting his Master will catch him, but if he doesn't, that's his Master's right.  
  
Liam does catch him, both hands on Christian's shoulders while the lad leans against him. He feels the aloe soaking through to his belly and thighs but ignores it. If this is what Christian needs then he'll give it.  
  
Chris nods to Jack and takes another sip of his cider. "Me too. I mean, I've been away a lot, filming and all, just home for holidays. We were in New York for FF, a lot of stuff gets made there. Now I'm here doing Sunshine."  
  
"What's that about?" Jack asks, curiously. "I don't know if you've heard it all, but I used to be an actor too. Would still be, except that things changed." He doesn't go into details. Too soon for someone who he's just met.  
  
Christian's legs kick against anything they can reach -- the base of the toilet, the wall, the counters, the floor -- as he tries to brace himself to press back harder into his Master's embrace. His fist works furiously at his cock, precome flowing over his fingers as the tears are flowing down his cheeks. "Good, Master, please," he whispers, "Please, good, good." He can't articulate how he feels any better than that, is barely aware that he's speaking at all.  
  
"Yes, good," Liam echoes. He presses a kiss into Christian's hair, his eyes closed, divorcing himself emotionally from what's going on. It's as though he's watching a movie, and not a very interesting one, either. He can't seem to work out how he feels, or even how to feel anything at all right now. He's hollow inside, just doing what he needs to do on an intellectual level to care for his slave because Christian needs him and it's his responsibility to take care of him, he _has_ to do this, whatever it takes, because he promised he would and he has to see it through. Whatever the lad needs, Liam will give him.  
  
Chris swallows a cheesy pastry thing and says, "It's a sci-fi thing. Part of the sun's dying and some astronauts are sent out to reignite it, except the first team they sent vanished and there's all this tension, wondering what's going on and what they're going to find." He chats about his project but he's very much aware that the noise from upstairs stopped some time ago and he can't help wondering what's happening. What are they doing and what's going to happen now and will they come downstairs and what are they doing right now...?  
  
He only takes in half of what Chris says, nodding as he sips his drink. "Sounds interesting." He doesn't really have much else to say, the tension in the room is very weird. "Are you a lead this time?"  
  
Christian arches back as he comes, presses his forehead against the side of his Master's throat as his body tenses, locks up, relaxes for a second with every pulse of thick white _purity._ He feels _clean_ , like he's been baptized, like he's taken part in some strange pagan Mystery of pain and love.  
  
As the last drops dribble over his fingers, he goes limp, slumps against Liam for a moment. He starts to cry, shoulders rhythmically convulsing in time with his weeping, but it's not a painful sound. The emotions are just too much for him to cope with.  
  
He manages to turn himself around, hugs his Master as he sobs his thanks.  
  
"There, babe, it's all right. I've got you. Cry it out, there's my good lad." Liam places his hands carefully as he cuddles Christian to him. He feels tears tickling their way down his own cheeks but can't quite figure out why.  
  
Chris shrugs. "I'm not the big star with my face in the center of the poster or anything, but I'm up there. Pretty much like with FF, you know?" If Jack used to act then he knows how that goes.  
  
"Yeah, I get it. I was just about there with Ripley," Jack says. "Kind of lucky, I got to fade into obscurity pretty easily. Well, in the acting world anyway. I sometimes think I'd rather do that publicity than the stuff I have to do now." He sighs. "Not all it's cracked up to be, being a lord."  
  
He's making conversation, trying to keep his and Chris's mind off whatever it is that's going on upstairs.  
  
Christian holds on to Liam until his sobbing calms to an occasional sniffle. He pulls back a bit, cups Liam's face in his hands, and presses their foreheads together. "Thank you," he whispers. He can barely see through the tears still caught in his lashes, but he can see well enough to place a kiss on Liam's cheek.  
  
"You're very welcome," Liam whispers back, kissing him back, on the forehead. "I told you I'd take care of you, remember? You're mine, and whatever you need I'll give you if it's within my power." He ruffles the lad's hair with his fingers, just standing there, holding him for a bit. The tension's gone and Christian feels relaxed, content, just _here_ for the first time since their contract. That makes it worth it, really it does. "How are you feeling, then? Better? Do you want to go back downstairs or would you rather stay here for a bit?"  
  
"Lord? Like, House of Lords and all that?" Chris blinks at Jack. All he can think of is, Funny, he doesn't _look_ like a lord, which he knows is a really dumb cliche but he can't help it.  
  
"Oh, hell, I forgot to mention that again, didn't I?" Jack says. "Yes, I am an Earl. I... didn't expect to be. I was the second son," he says, trying to explain to Chris without going into areas that he isn't ready to. "I just tend to presume that people know this. Which can be awkward. I'm sorry."  
  
Christian is speechless, still caught up a bit in the emotional whirlwind of the last twenty minutes. "Soon," he manages to reply softly. "Not yet." He sags into Liam's arms. " _Christ._ " He glances down, realises his cock is still hanging out of his jeans. With a small sigh, he tucks himself back in, trying not to smear more come over the fabric. He glances at Liam, and winces at the mess of aloe and semen all over the front of Liam's pants. He looks up at Liam through his fringe. "Sorry, Master," he whispers.  
  
Liam feels his shoulders shake as a single, silent snort of laughter passes through him. "Least of my worries, babe. Don't fret about it. We both need to change before we go back down." He ignores the mess and just keeps petting Christian's hair, smoothing his hands through it in slow caresses, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tell me how you're doing. Feel better?" He clearly does but Liam needs to hear it, and he thinks it'll do Christian some good to articulate it.  
  
"No, it's all right, really." Chris sort of toasts Jack with his glass of cider, then takes a sip. He thinks about what else Jack said and adds, "I'm sorry."  
  
"Thank you," Jack says. "I don't... seem to fully think of myself as being who I am, it has only been five years though. Maybe in another five." He half-smiles.  
  
Christian nods once, swallows. "I feel...." He frowns, trying to come up with something that will adequately describe it, or at least begin to. "Absolved." He looks up at Liam. His right hand inches up to his collar, as his expression grows wary. "You're... you're not going to take this away, are you?" he whispers in a childlike voice.  
  
"No!" Liam's startled at the suggestion and he's sure it shows in his face. He lowers his voice before going on. "I keep telling you, you're mine until I say you're not."  
  
"You're not going to say I'm not now?" Christian whispers.  
  
"No, I'm not. Not now and not any time soon. We're going to be together for a while yet so don't fret about it." Another kiss, on the end of his nose this time, then he reaches around and smooths out the gel on Christian's back, where it got smeared around when he leaned back against Liam's shirt.  
  
Christian relaxes into the touch, leaning against Liam's chest. "Feels good," he whispers as Liam's fingers stroke over his back.  
  
"I'm glad." Liam straightens and looks down into Christian's face. "You seem more relaxed. More yourself. I'm glad."  
  
A lazy smile spreads across his face. He nods. "More relaxed." He chuckles. "I feel... exorcised."  
  
"Maybe. It can be hard enough, though, to figure out exactly who you are when you're just going along, you know? Even when you don't have to do a sudden one-eighty." Chris's eyes meet Jack's in understanding and sympathy for a moment, then he looks away and busies himself getting one of the little quiche things. They look home-made, not the frozen ones you can get at CostCo, and knowing Liam they probably are.  
  
"I know that," Jack nods. "I mean, I like to think I was secure before, but when I think about it, I was thinking about... sexuality and what it might mean to come out as an actor." He watches Chris as he gets something to eat. He seems a nice guy. "I feel like I should apologise for this, in some way," he says, quietly. "I have no idea why."  
  
"Excellent." Liam manages a bit of a smile, then takes a deep breath and stretches. "Come on, let's go get changed, then. You've a guest waiting for you. I imagine he's wondering what's happened to us -- you can go reassure him."  
  
Christian nods, moving over in front of the mirror. He turns his back to it, peers over his shoulder at the six red stripes across his back. He looks back to Liam. "Thank you," he says softly.  
  
"Social jitters?" Chris asks with a ghost of a smile. "When it's uncomfortable you want to say you're sorry. Or I do, anyway. There's no reason, it's just a reflex." He glances up at the ceiling, then looks away. "You should try one of these cheese puff things -- they're really good."  
  
"That might be it," Jack nods, and gets up to try one. "I was also referring to... whatever the hell this is we're all in the middle of." It's the first time he's really been direct about it with Chris. For just a moment, for some reason, he wishes the younger man were Jared. Someone he could just talk to without wondering if he's saying the wrong thing or saying too much. He bites into the pastry. "That is good," he says, his mind in too many places to settle into one. And his headache didn't abate, he suddenly realises as something in his head throbs.  
  
"I don't think I'll be able to wear a shirt though." Christian turns to face the mirror again, and gives an appraising look at the man staring back at him: brown hair, hazel eyes, high cheekbones, strong but not overbearing jaw....  
  
He tilts his head, narrows his eyes; defined abs, flat stomach, distinct pecs, leather collar. Solid biceps. Leather cuffs. No wedding ring. No evidence of ownership, other than Liam's.  
  
"Master, may Jack stay the night?" The question comes after a deep breath. "I.... Your slave thinks he would like company." _Polite, polite, polite...._  
  
Liam looks at Christian, studying him for a moment. "If you want him to, then yes. If you're sure you'll be all right?"  
  
"You're not going to leave the house, are you?  
  
"Jack... Jack isn't Adam. He's not going to do anything... inappropriate."  
  
"No, I'll be here. You can come find me whenever you need. Or call." Liam nods, then turns for the door. "So, go change your trousers then. Jack's been alone long enough." He heads for his room, pulling his jumper off over his head while he walks.  
  
Chris nods, looking lost for a few seconds. "I don't pretend to fully understand what's going on. I just try to deal with it. I don't want to...." He pauses and looks away. "I don't want to be one more person Liam has to worry about, you know? Or make things hard for Christian."  
  
"I do know," Jack agrees. "I'm doing my best not to make it harder for him. For both of them, really. It's... not easy. I don't get it either... but whatever he needs. That's all I can say right now. I am sorry you've been caught up...." Jack sighs, then turns, he thinks he heard a noise from upstairs.  
  
It takes Liam under a minute to change and then he's back down the stairs. The living room is empty so he checks the kitchen and stops. "Chris! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you knock." He's across the room and hugging him a moment later, but then his brain starts working again. Fuck! He looks over Chris's shoulder and says, "Jack? Christian's still upstairs -- would you mind taking that plate I fixed for the two of you up to him?" He moves his eyes up toward the ceiling and then gives Jack a pleading look. He really doesn't want to think about Chris's reaction if... Jaysus, if so many things!  
  
"Of course," Jack answers. He's going to go up as soon as he can, but the pain behind his eyes reminds him it's still there again. "Just a moment, Liam, do you have any aspirin or some kind of painkiller? I've got a drummer beating a tattoo on my skull."  
  
Christian pads back to his room. _Jack's going to stay the night._ It's a comfortable thought, and it makes him smile as he tries to decide what to wear. _Well,_ he reasons, _I don't want to have to stop and change later._ He snags his white cotton sleep pants with the flower details at the ankle. He wishes briefly that he could wear the matching fuschia silk shirt, but there's no way he's putting fabric on top of the welts Liam gave him. He inspects them in the mirror as he gets changed. _Master,_ he thinks, nodding to himself. The deep red lines are perfectly even, beautifully laid on his skin. He cinches the pants around his waist, and walks out into the hall.  
  
"I have a couple different kinds in the upstairs bathroom. Take whatever you need. If a cool cloth would help, they're in the linen cupboard in the hall next to the bathroom." Even while speaking to Jack, Liam's wrapped around Chris, hanging on for dear life as though his lover's about to vanish into the air. Which just might happen if Christian comes downstairs and Chris sees... sees what Christian looks like. What Liam did. And considering Christian's expression, what it _looks_ like Liam did. He moans and buries his face in Chris's hair, holding on and rocking with him, thinking, Go, go, go! at Jack.  
  
"Thank you, we'll be upstairs if you need anything," Jack says. "Or if Christian calls." He takes the plate and makes his way upstairs, more cautious than he sounds, not knowing what he's going to find. "Christian?" he calls out softly.  
  
Christian meets him at the top of the stairs. "Jack." He smiles, relaxed and happy. He starts walking down them, but doesn't get very far before he stops and frowns at Jack. "Are you all right?" he asks with gentle concern.  
  
"Who are you and what have you done with Christian?" Jack asks, and falters. "Sorry, headache," he says, rubbing his temple. "Liam said there's stuff in the bathroom cabinet?" Then he wonders if Christian should know this. Too late. He leans against the wall, just staring at how... different Christian looks. "You..."  
  
Christian decends three more steps, and holds his hand out for Jack to take. "You sure it's just a headache?" He beckons with his fingers. "C'mon. Lets get you fixed up."  
  
  
  
[Chris and Liam continue [here](http://www.journalfen.net/users/hisboy/6791.html).]  
[Christian and Jack continue [here](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/12990.html).]

  


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	24. I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: Dec 31, evening, London - Citadel Mews

| **I Said Hit Me, Dammit! - Log: Dec 31, evening, London - Citadel Mews** |  [[entries](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/)|[archive](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/calendar)|[friends](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/friends)|[userinfo](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/profile)]  
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|  Log: Dec 31, evening, London - Citadel Mews | [Dec. 31st, 2005| **09:28 pm** ]  
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(with [](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/profile)[**jack_d**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/jack_d/) , follows directly from [New Years Eve at Liam’s](http://www.journalfen.net/users/cit_liam/8887.html?style=mine#cutid1); will eventually be backdated)  
  
Christian meets him at the top of the stairs. "Jack." He smiles, relaxed and happy. He starts walking down them, but doesn't get very far before he stops and frowns at Jack. "Are you all right?" he asks with gentle concern.  
  
"Who are you and what have you done with Christian?" Jack asks, and falters. "Sorry, headache," he says, rubbing his temple. "Liam said there's stuff in the bathroom cabinet?" Then he wonders if Christian should know this. Too late. He leans against the wall, just staring at how... different Christian looks. "You..."  
  
Christian descends three more steps, and holds his hand out for Jack to take. "You sure it's just a headache?" He beckons with his fingers. "C'mon. Let’s get you fixed up."  
  
"I think so," Jack says, the pain making it a bit difficult to focus on anything but Christian's hand. "I think you've just kind of... shocked me. You look..." he runs his eyes over Christian. "Like yourself."  
  
  
He nods slowly, giving Jack an odd look. "As opposed to the pod person version?" He takes another step down to grasp Jack's hand and, walking backwards, pulls him gently up the stairs. "We'll get some Tylenol in you, fix you up."  
  
"That sounds like a really good idea," Jack manages a smile at Christian above him, his other hand somehow managing to hold their plate. "What then?" he asks, curious.  
  
Christian shrugs one shoulder. "Food?" He steps up onto the landing. When Jack joins him, he carefully takes the plate. "I'll put this in my room for now."  
  
"Okay," Jack says. He can't help it, he gasps when Christian turns away from him. He was not expecting that. At all.  
  
Deciding to ignore the gasp while he has a plate in his hand, Christian walks the few feet to his room, and sets it down on the bureau. He takes a deep, fortifying breath, turns, and walks back to Jack. He stands in front of him, waiting for some kind of reaction.  
  
"It helped?" Jack asks, coming closer. "Please tell me it helped." He's a little shaky, not sure what he should do. His breathing is slow and steady, and he doesn't quite know where to stand.  
  
He nods slowly, lips pressed together. "It helped," he replies in a voice just above a whisper. "It helped a lot."  
  
"That's good," Jack says, and his hand goes to his head again, his forehead creasing. "Maybe we could talk about this after the Tylenol?" he says.  
  
"Of course." Christian wants to hold Jack's hand, but he's not sure how comfortable Jack would be with that, given that he's wearing another man's mark on his back. Instead, he leads the way to the bathroom. The aloe is still sitting on the counter, so he puts it away and at the same time pulls out the Tylenol. "Water?" he asks.  
  
"Please," Jack says, slumping against the counter, not realizing until now just how tired he feels. He watches Christian move about. "It's... it's okay," he manages, when he takes the water from him. "Just... not what I expected."  
  
Christian waits for him to swallow before he replies. "What did you expect?"  
  
"I don't know," Jack says, honestly. "The way you freaked out earlier, I'm surprised you can be so calm. And yet, I'm not."  
  
"The beating helped." He's not sure what else to say. He really doesn't want to tell Jack that he just came in his Master's arms, and he's not sure Jack could handle it, even if he didn't have a headache.   
  
"That's good," Jack nods, he can feel the painkiller working in his system already though he knows it's a psychological reaction more than a physical one. "And what else happened?" He's learned to read Christian.  
  
Christian takes the cup back with a small frown. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asks in a quiet tone. He glances sideways at Jack, watching him, trying to gauge his reactions.  
  
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Jack replies, feeling a little better. "I never ask something I'm not very prepared to hear. Except a few times when you've freaked out, but that's circumstances, not about me not wanting to know."  
  
He can't quite bring himself to look at Jack face on, so he looks at him in the mirror. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. "I came," he answers softly.   
  
He was expecting worse. Not sure what, but this isn't it. "Third time since...?" he asks, quietly. "And maybe we can get out of here." He wants to say more, but doesn't seem to have the words.  
  
Christian stares at him for a moment before the words register. _No yelling. No accusations. No threats._ He nods at Jack, and leads the way back to his room. He's not sure how much more Jack wants to know, so he doesn't add anything. "Have a seat," he offers, gesturing toward the slightly rumpled bed. "Excuse the mess." He smiles weakly. "This was... all the noise, earlier." He sighs as he begins straightening up.  
  
"Did that help too?" Jack can't help but laugh a little. "Better that you destroy all this than hurt yourself," he says, voice soft. "These things can be fixed or replaced. You can't."  
  
He frowns as he looks at the mess of polyfill. "I'll have to get you another pillow," Christian mutters to himself more than to Jack. He looks over at his companion. "Not really, no."  
  
"You want me to stay?" Jack says. He knows it could just be to relax but there's something in Christian's tone and stance. "And you can't be replaced, you know. At all."  
  
"I want you to stay." Christian turns so his back isn't visible. No need to rub it in Jack's face. "Do you want to stay the night?"  
  
He opens his mouth and then closes it, not sure what to say. Then he thinks an answer is probably a good idea. "Yes..." he says. "Please." He's a bit shocked. In a good way, but it's still a shock.  
  
Christian smiles, and his face heats a bit. "Good." He thinks he's blushing a bit, but he's not about to turn around to check. "I still have some cleaning up to do, but we can talk while I do that." It's an effort to stay calm, but it's a good effort for a good excitement. "I can loan you something to sleep in."  
  
"That might be an idea, I'm not sure sleeping in this would be very comfortable and I don't think sleeping naked is something we're ready for yet," Jack replies. He's not trying to avoid talking about Christian coming. Really.  
  
The idea of sleeping naked with Jack is enough to make Christian pause. "No," he agrees, "Definitely not ready for that yet."   
  
"Might lead to... things we're even less ready for," Jack says. He bites his lip. "Like..."  
  
Christian shakes his head. "Like anything." He picks up his toiletries, stuffs them back into their leather case, lays it on the bureau.   
  
"Yes," Jack nods. It's at Christian's pace. "You know you are kind of... irresistible." He grins, slightly. "I promise to keep my hands to myself, though. Unless you ask me not to."  
  
Scooping up pillow-innards and stuffing it back into the pillowcase gives Christian a chance to think. What does he want from Jack tonight? "We could... snuggle."   
  
"Snuggling sounds very good," Jack nods. "If you're sure." He is still a little burned by Christian's earlier reaction. He knows not to take it personally, but that's intellectual, not emotional.  
  
He nods. "I'm sure." Christian looks up. Jack looks like something's bothering him, but at this point there's really too much to choose from for Christian to just guess. "What's the matter?" he asks softly.  
  
"I'm still a little afraid you're going to freak out," Jack says. "Again."  
  
Christian shakes his head. "I'm okay."  
  
"You seemed okay before you freaked out," Jack points out. "How can we know you won't again?" He's not sure how far he should press the point.  
  
He sighs, although he knows it's a valid question. "We can't know for certain, Jack. Nothing in life is certain." He crams the last handful of polyfill into the pillowcase; the rest is small enough that it will need to be vacuumed up. Christian ties the pillow case off, and tosses it into the corner. "The only thing I can tell you is that right now I feel... good." It seems like such an understatement.   
  
"I can go with that," Jack nods. He likes watching Christian work. His muscles play under his skin. "Do you know just how..." and he doesn't say it. "I'm glad we're here," he says instead. "I'll trust it, as much as I trust anything in life."  
  
Christian nods slowly. "That's all I can ask, really." He picks up the last few odds and ends he had swept off the dresser earlier, and puts them back. "How's your head?" He carries the plate from the bureau to the bed, and sits down beside Jack, carefully leaving enough room between them to place the food on the duvet.  
  
"Better," Jack answers. "No throbbing any more." He smiles. "You took good care of me."  
  
Christian snickers. "I handed you a pill." He picks up a piece of broccoli, swipes it through the dip, and crunches on it.  
  
"It was a good job," Jack teases as he takes a mushroom slice. "Mmmm."  
  
"I'm sorry I ran off earlier." He picks up a slice of green pepper, breaks it in half.   
  
"It's okay. I have that effect on lots of people," Jack tries to raise a smile.  
  
He dips one half of the green pepper, pops it into his mouth, and then does the same to the other half. "You _are_ intimidatingly sexy," he says with a small nod.  
  
"I hope not too much so," Jack smiles as he bites a carrot stick. "I didn't realize how hungry I was. I've been... kind of staring at the wall. Well, until Chris arrived."  
  
A piece of celery stops halfway to Christian's mouth. "What?" he asks, looking up from the plate. "Chris is here?"   
  
"He was expected, wasn't he?" Jack asks, trying to backpedal. "He said he was...."  
  
"Yeah." A sense of dread makes him ask "How long has he been here?"  
  
"Long enough," Jack says, knowing Christian will get it. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew he was coming."  
  
 _Shit._ "We knew." He chews slowly, swallows, reaches for another piece of green pepper. "How much could you hear from downstairs?" He can't remember being overly loud, but the rule about his bedroom door staying open was in effect, and he's not sure how well the sound carried.  
  
"We knew you were being... beaten," Jack says. "It was... more than obvious." He sighs. "I don't know what to say."  
  
He shakes his head. "I can't even say I'm sorry." Christian looks up at Jack. "I'm not. I needed it."  
  
"I know. It wasn't easy for Chris. I almost think it was a little easier for me, I had seen you freak out and just about anything was good if it could calm you down." Jack sighs.  
  
"Are you okay with it?" Christian asks.  
  
"I'm not ecstatic about it," Jack answers honestly. "But it did work. And that's the important part."  
  
The pain is a dull heat, a warming, wonderful feeling that reassures Christian that his Master cares about him. "It did." He reaches down to cover Jack's hand with his own.   
  
"Then it's okay. It's not amazing and wonderful, but it is okay," Jack's fingers tighten gently over Christian's. "I'm here."  
  
"Do you... have any experience with that?"  
  
"Which?" Jack isn't quite sure what he means.  
  
"Beating someone." If Jack can't do it, they're going to have to find someone who can.   
  
"A little," Jack says. "I don't think I've ever marked someone like that, but I must admit, there's a part of me that would like to try it. I've mostly gone in for lighter stuff."  
  
"Lighter stuff?" He releases Jack's hand to pick up a carrot. "What kind of lighter stuff?" He dips it, eats it.  
  
"Caning, spanking, a little work with the whip," Jack replies.  
  
Christian nods thoughtfully. Caning and whipping might work. "I prefer a more... hands on approach, but I don't think Liam could bring himself to do that."  
  
"Tell me about it, I'm definitely intrigued," Jack turns to him, chewing on a celery stick.  
  
 _Tell him about it?_ "Have you seen Fight Club?" This might be the easiest way.  
  
"Sorry, no," Jack answers.  
  
 _Or maybe not._ "Do you hear much about the other members - what they like, what they do?"   
  
"Mostly gossip, and I have had some experience myself," Jack replies.  
  
"Have you encountered Rupert Everett?" _Might as well start at the beginning,_ Christian thinks.  
  
"Not personally, but we have mutual friends from my acting days," Jack answers. "I think his kinks are... rather outside mine most of the time. Not completely," he adds, in case Rupert is a good friend of Christian's.  
  
Christian nods. "Rupert was one of the first members I encountered when I joined Citadel."  
  
An eyebrow is raised. "Indeed. That must have been... interesting."  
  
"Another member recommended him to me. Told me I might find what I was looking for with him." Even a decade later, the memory is a fond one.   
  
"That sounds like a good thing," Jack smiles, seeing the way Christian looks.  
  
He nods. "It was. We get along well when he's in his rougher moods." Curiosity gets the better of him, and he asks "What did you do when you first joined Citadel?"  
  
"Someone gave me the membership," Jack says. "When I was at university, before I met Jared, I had quite a few flings, shall we say. And one of the guys I met was... into kink. He liked the way I took his lash and thought I might enjoy Citadel. He was right."  
  
"Jared?"  
  
"Jared Padalecki. My ex. You might know him as a player for Manchester United," Jack says.   
  
Christian really isn't sure what to say. He's heard of Jared, of course. Young, good looking... _And Jack's ex._ "Why did you split up?" he asks after a moment of awkward silence. "If you don't mind me asking."  
  
"I don't mind, but there were so many factors," Jack replies. "I think maybe it was as simple as the sexual chemistry cooling. Sometimes that happens. We're still close. More like family than friends."  
  
Nodding seems like a safe response. He takes another piece of celery. _It happens,_ he thinks. _That doesn't mean it'll happen to the two of us._  
  
"I feel more for you than I ever did for him," Jack says. "Even though we... did a lot, explored...hell, I even found out I was at least a little bi with him. He is really into threesomes and one day he brought a girl in. Surprised me a lot..."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I thought I was gay. I still feel more inclined to men, Juli was an exception."  
  
"Hmm." It's a non-committal response. Christian tries to look a little on the interested side of neutral. He hears the words, understands them even, but can't stop staring at Jack's mouth while he speaks. There's just... something... possessiveness, perhaps, combined with a lower lip that's begging to be tasted. Without thinking, Christian leans in, and brushes his lips against Jack's.  
  
"Oh..." Jack whispers against Christian's lips. "Yes..." He doesn't do more. Just stays there and lets Christian set the pace. He can feel Christian's soft breath on his lips.  
  
Christian pulls back, licking his lips and tasting Jack there. "Sorry," he frowns, but licks his lips again. "I don't know what I was thinking," he half-chuckles, looking at the floor.  
  
"Don't be sorry," Jack says. "Not for something that felt so good." He touches Christian's hand.   
  
He shakes his head. "You were talking and your mouth looked..." Christian licks his lips again. "Good," he whispers. He looks into Jack's eyes, and lets them pull him in till their mouths are a breath apart. "Is it all right if I kiss you again?" he whispers.  
  
"If you don't, I will," Jack responds, but he waits for Christian. "I want you to," he encourages, his eyes on Christian's.  
  
"It's just..." Christian closes the distance between them, kisses him lightly. "We're not going to do anything," he whispers as their lips meet again. "Don't want to lead you on." He rests his cheek against Jack's. He's sure it must look odd, but it's intimate, more than a hug.  
  
"I'm not expecting anything but what happens in the moment," Jack whispers to Christian. "It's all wonderful, but I won't expect more. Not yet. I'm not ready for it either, if that helps."  
  
Christian closes his eyes and nods. "It does." Jack's cologne or soap or shampoo or _something_ smells good. "What are you wearing?" he asks, then realizes it sounds like the start of one of their first phone calls, and snickers.  
  
Laughing, Jack tries to remember. There've been a few things happen since he got dressed for tonight. "Actually, it's personally blended cologne. A friend of a friend makes it. You like?"  
  
"Yeah." Christian nods. "I'll have to get you to leave some with me sometime," he whispers, not caring that he sounds like a fourteen year old girl right now.   
  
He would laugh, under any other circumstances. But instead, he nods. "I'll get some sent over in the morning."  
  
"Going to have one of your shirts brought over too, so I can wrap it around my pillow?" Christian whispers, only half teasing, but grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"Do you want me to?" Jack smiles back, but knowing if Christian says yes, he'll do it. "I'll do anything I can for you."  
  
"It's tempting to say yes, just to see if you really would," Christian whispers back.  
  
"I would," Jack nods, totally serious. "If you ask it, and it's in my power, it's yours."  
  
He lowers his head to Jack's shoulder. "You'll spoil me."  
  
"I'll try not to do that, too much," Jack says, and his hand moves up to card through Christian's hair, almost automatically.   
  
Christian sighs. "Feels good," he whispers. "We could just stay like this, all night."  
  
"I wouldn't mind," Jack agrees. "I would like to be in something a little more comfortable, though..."  
  
Reluctantly, Christian sits up. "Sweat pants all right?" he asks. They have the best chance of fitting, but if Jack would like something else, he'll trade.  
  
"Whatever fits," Jack nods. "Just not this..." he indicates his suit.  
  
"It looks good on you." He stands, and walks over to the bureau. Christian wonders if Jack really is staring at the stripes on his back, or if the odd tingling sensation is just the aloe drying. He pulls a pair of sweatpants out of the bottom drawer. "These okay?"   
  
"Yes, but sleeping in it would hardly be comfortable," Jack tries to keep things light-hearted, his gaze drawn to the stripes despite himself. "Fine," he answers Christian's question and realizes he's going to have to get up. He carefully places his jacket on the back of the chair, and takes the pants from Christian.  
  
"Shirt too?" he asks. Even if Christian can't wear the silk shirt tonight, there's no reason Jack can't. "I have a silk one here."  
  
"Sure, why not," Jack smiles as he takes off his shirt. He folds it and places it on the chair, then starts to undo his belt. He's holding it loosely in both hands as Christian turns around.  
  
Christian stands, holding the dark pink shirt in one hand. "Well, for one, it matches..." His voice trails off as his eyes catch the belt in Jack's hands. "It, uh, matches my, ah, pants," he finishes lamely. His eyes flicker up. "Jack?" he asks softly.  
  
He doesn't realize at first, then he looks down and up. "Uh... just my belt," he says, folding it together and putting it on the chair. That was maybe not the right moment for this. But he does smile. "Not now."  
  
Christian shakes his head. "Not now," he repeats. He doesn't say _maybe not ever,_ but he doesn't have to. It hangs there in the room between them. "Hope you don't mind pink," he says, pushing through the awkward silence.  
  
"I don't mind," Jack replies, taking the shirt before unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, folding them just as carefully, before pulling on the sweatpants and then buttoning the pink shirt. It's soft and the colour doesn't bother him at all.  
  
Christian doesn't even consider turning around. He watches Jack change in silence, memorizing every inch of revealed skin in case he doesn't get to see it again.  
  
Christian's eyes on him burn into his skin, and Jack feels arousal rise in him. But they're not ready, even though the feelings might tell them otherwise. He moves closer to Christian again. "Think we can handle lying down again?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Christian smiles weakly. "Promise to behave," he says solemnly.  
  
"I promise," Jack replies. "It's all about what you can handle, you're in charge of making sure things don't go where you can't handle. I'm just the innocent bystander."  
  
Christian folds the last of the clothing off the floor, and places it on the edge of the bureau with the rest of them.  
  
"What now?" Jack asks, softly. He just wants to enjoy this time, Christian being calmer. It's good.  
  
Christian shrugs. "I could give you the grand tour. This is my room." He spreads his arms, then points at the door in the corner. "My closet, which I have not come out of yet. My door," he says as he then gestures toward the hall, "which by Master's rules must remain open at all times. My bureau. My bed. Chair."   
  
"Very nice," Jack says, the Master slightly niggling still, no matter what he does. Still, he gets it, now more than ever. "Comfortable, too." He stretches a little.  
  
"Seems to be." Christian graces him with a small smile. "You could find out tonight. Or sleep downstairs on the sofa. It's up to you."  
  
"I think I'd like to sleep here if you can cope. I'm hoping it will be something we'll have a long time to get used to," Jack says.  
  
"I'd like that too," Christian agrees softly.  
  
He sits on the edge of the bed. "So." Christian knows there must be something to talk about, something to discuss while he's relaxed and rational. "You're out."  
  
"Yes," Jack nods. "It... actually never even occurred to me to hide it when I was an actor. I think it was actually," he smiles, "Rupert who made me think that. He was out at the time."  
  
Christian chuckles. "I can't imagine Rupert ever being _in_ ," he admits, looking at Jack's feet.   
  
"True, but I'm sure there was a time," Jack laughs and wriggles his toes a little, noticing where Christian is looking. "Anyway, half the world thinks I'm gay and compensating and the other half thinks I’m straight and playing."  
  
"Faith threatened to out me." Christian reaches out, and gently brushes his toes over the top of Jack's foot. "Not just me, but Citadel."  
  
"Bloody hell," Jack whispers. "Can you imagine? Seriously? All the members..." He's actually shocked.  
  
"I don't know how many members she was aware of. I kept Citadel and home pretty well separated. But even that Citadel existed, and that Batman was a kinky fag... well, that would reflect back on my agent, and then on anyone else he manages..."  
  
"Yes, exactly, and that's a good third of the members I know of. I think I'm almost scared to ask what you had on her that she didn't, because from what you've said, it must have been pretty big." Jack looks curiously at Christian.  
  
 _Fuck._ He really doesn't want to discuss the finer points of his divorce, not tonight. Christian shakes his head. "Good lawyers. Citadel lawyers." He looks up at Jack. "You were never in the closet?"  
  
"Never really saw a reason to be. It wasn't - I thought - as if I was going to inherit the title, and I didn't like the idea of hiding. My family was actually pretty great about it. Dad didn't want to know the details, Michael... didn't actually care that much, and Mum just wants me to be happy."  
  
He nods. "I suppose. You were an artist, not the political figure. After though... did it become a problem?"  
  
"Exactly. It... well, let's just say that the discovery of an heir made things a little easier," Jack replies. "And I'm hardly the only queer lord in England."  
  
That makes Christian snort with surprised laugher. "No, I suppose not. Brits must be pretty used to their celebrities being on both sides of the fence by now," he chuckles, wishing the same were true for North America.  
  
"Apparently so," Jack nods. "And the bi thing, I think a lot of people think I just need to meet 'the right woman' and I'll be married off to her and popping out more heirs. So not going to happen," he says.  
  
"Well, that's a relief." Christian smiles at him. "I'd hate to think I was just convenient." He knows he's anything but, and he's reasonably certain he knows how Jack will react to that statement, so he cuts the reassurance off before it starts. "Outside Citadel, only my family knows."  
  
"No one else?" Jack asks, curiously. "Well, I mean, I suppose the people you've been with, of course. So tell me, how did you figure it out?"  
  
The memories make Christian blush. "I was, ah, on a shoot... and developed a bit of a crush on one of the other leads. I was," he thinks, unconsciously scrunching his nose up a bit as he does so, "eighteen at the time?"  
  
"Wasn't Gabriel Byrne by any chance?" Jack grins. "No, you were a little over eighteen then, I think. Hmmmm. One of the guys in Newsies? Not that I've seen it, but I know it's a mostly guys movie."  
  
Christian has to laugh. "So close! The movie right in between, actually, Swing Kids."  
  
"Haven't seen that one either. So, I'm curious now, would it be anyone I've heard of?" Jack finds the image quite sweet, Christian having a crush on a co-star. Not that he didn't go through that more than once himself.  
  
He ducks his head. Even after over a decade, he feels mildly embarrassed over how silly he felt back then. "Robert. Robert Sean Leonard. We were playing best friends, practically lived out of each other's back pockets."  
  
"Oh, yes, I've seen a few of his movies, and that series he's in now. And... I think I know why. There's something very attractive about him," Jack muses. "And if you were very close, of course..." he nods.  
  
"Yeah," he sighs, then has to smile. "There's one scene, near the beginning, of three of us pissing against a wall and singing. One of the other actors and I, Frank, his character was always very serious, but we kept getting the giggles during this one scene -- you know how it is," he says in a rush, patting Jack's arm at the end.   
  
"Anyway, we must have been on take nine or ten, it's the middle of the night, freezing cold, and Bobby actually pulls his cock out." Christian chuckles, looking down at the floor again. "We were always doing that kind of thing, just being foolish."  
  
Laughing, Jack thinks he can imagine what the look on Christian's face was like. "Well, yes, that's half the fun, isn't... wasn't it?" he says, not even noticing the pause and correction.   
  
He nods. "It was. It was a silly shoot all 'round. But when you put a bunch of seventeen and eighteen year olds together to teach them swing dancing, what else can you expect?"  
  
"I don't think I even want to speculate," Jack laughs. "But I can imagine it was great fun at the time. Swing dancing, that's when you, like... throw your partner around?"  
  
Christian nods again. "Very physical, a lot of running, jumping, grabbing... falling, tripping, dizziness." He smiles. "And great music."  
  
"Somehow, I can see you falling, I don't know why, you haven't struck me as especially clumsy," Jack grins. "I'll have to try and see it. Maybe I'll learn something."  
  
"I can't think of anything you'd really learn from it..."  
  
"Maybe how to dance?" Jack smiles.  
  
"Don't count on it. It moves too fast." Christian glances at him. "We could... take lessons together. Maybe. Or... I still remember a lot of it. I might be able to teach you a few things."  
  
"If you don't mind two left feet all over yours," Jack looks at Christian. "I swear, all those pictures of me leading out some bright young thing? Posed. I was always scared to move in case I stepped on her dress or her foot or both."  
  
"Well, I promise not to wear a dress."  
  
"You know that's not what I meant, and I do remember you don't like that. Neither do I," Jack adds. "Well, unless kilts count. I do wear them for ceremonial occasions up in Scotland. Hope that won't put you off too much."  
  
Christian wiggles his eyebrows. "Kilts are entirely different." He lies back on the bed. _God, haven't thought of Bobby in ages._  
  
"I wear it in the traditional manner, too," Jack nods solemnly. "I'd be shot if I didn't - possibly literally. They take that kind of thing very seriously up there."  
  
Christian turns his head to look up at Jack. "Much wind in Scotland?" he asks conversationally.  
  
Laughing, Jack sits back a little on the bed. "Depends on where you are. Inside the stuffy, proper occasions, no. Other places...." he wriggles his eyebrows.  
  
"I'll have to make sure I go." Christian winks. "At least to the outdoor events. Or maybe I'll attach little lead weights to the bottom of your kilt."  
  
"But it would be so much more fun if you were there," Jack answers. "You could be in charge of making sure I don't embarrass myself. Of course, that would probably involve me not doing anything at all."  
  
"In that case, you could stay at home with me, every day." Christian smiles. "Be my little housefrau."  
  
"I don't think so," Jack says. "I'd get far too bored. And it's not really me."  
  
Christian reaches out with one hand, strokes his index finger along Jack's arm from shoulder to wrist. "What do you like to do?" he asks.   
  
"Some of the business dealings, weirdly enough. The un-boring stuff. I also like horses. Riding, watching, breeding...." he follows the path of Christian's finger with his eyes. The touch feels good.  
  
"Horses? Really? How many do you own?"  
  
"Several," Jack says. "Enough to lose count," he nods. "It is actually possible to do that. I think there are... seventy or so on the various farms and other places."  
  
Christian shakes his head. "I don't think I've ever owned seventy of anything," he chuckles.  
  
"It's... crowded," Jack laughs too. "Very crowded most of the time."  
  
"I'll take your word for it." He traces around the edge of Jack's hand with his fingertips. "Where do you live?"  
  
"All the essentials," Jack grins before answering. "I spend most of my time here, in the London house. Huntingdon Hall, though, is home, always has been. It's out in the country. Mum lives in the Dower House - so when we go back there, we'll have all the privacy we want."  
  
"When we go where?"  
  
"To the Hall," Jack answers. "I want you to see it. And there's the place in Scotland, where I want to go and spend about a week alone with you as soon as you're ready."  
  
"You're going to find my place disappointing," Christian frowns. "I hope you'll be willing to spend some time in it with me anyway."  
  
"I'd like that," Jack says. "It's not the size of the place, it's the company. And I did forget, there's the place in New York."  
  
Christian smiles as he shakes his head.  
  
"What?" Jack asks, echoing the smile. "I forget stuff."  
  
"You forget entire houses?"   
  
"Apparently," Jack grins. "Actually, it's a Citadel place, so I sort of consider it totally mine, and the rest are a part of the estate."  
  
Christian nods. "Well, I'm leasing my place, from Citadel, of course."  
  
"It's at the warehouse, right? I remember seeing the advertising for it," Jack nods.  
  
"It's a nice place, from what I remember," he replies, nodding. "I wasn't there long."  
  
"I'm half hoping you might not end up going back," Jack says. "But only half. I don't want to pin too many hopes on..."  
  
Christian frowns for a moment, lost in thought. "I think I need my own place," he says finally, looking up at Jack. "It hasn't been long since I moved out, and at first I stayed with James, now Liam... I need to feel somewhat independent."  
  
He touches Jack's knee. "Tell me you understand."  
  
"I understand," Jack says. "That's why it was only a half hope. And I do completely understand your need for independence." He thinks for a moment, enjoying the touch of Christian's hand on his knee. "How about, when it does get to the point where you're spending more time at my place than yours, we talk about it?"  
  
"I think I'd still like to keep it." Christian lets his fingers drift over Jack's knee. "Just... so I have it. Just in case."  
  
"I hope eventually you won't need it just in case, but as long as you do, I won't try and stop you keeping it. That isn't my place," Jack nods. He's a little disappointed that Christian can't see not having the place yet, but he does understand.  
  
He gives Jack an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he whispers. He can't do it just yet, agree to leave everything for a life with Jack. His own life is too new, to untested and untried, for him to toss it away for couple-hood again so quickly.  
  
"It's okay. I know we're at slightly different places with this. This is just the way that usually lurks behind the bigger stuff," Jack says. It's hard for him, but he knows it would be harder to contemplate not having Christian in his life at all. That isn't even an option. "We'll figure it out. This is a lot less difficult than the other stuff to get past."  
  
"I just got my life back," Christian tries to explain. "I need some time to stretch, remember who I really am, before I commit to anything."  
  
"I know," Jack nods. "I want it for you, and yet, I want you to be ready to be with me all the time. I hope that isn't selfish of me."  
  
Christian turns toward Jack and props himself up on one elbow. "It's not selfish. And maybe I'll be ready to be with you most of the time... but I still have two careers on the go, and I don't want to quit either one." There's no doubt, though, in his mind, which he'd quit first.  
  
"And I have plenty to keep me busy," Jack nods. "But what I want is for us to be there for each other at the end of the day. Your work is important to you, I know, as is mine, even the parts I don't like."   
  
"I know. But being there for each other doesn't mean we have to be together all the time, or even see each other every day."  
  
"I know, intellectually. I'm just... this is really my first actual relationship, besides Jared, you know," Jack says, and he's surprised, he knew this, but it's still strange to admit, somehow.  
  
Christian looks at him for a moment. "How long ago was that?" he asks as he lies back down. It's like lying on a heating pad, or a sunburn after the worst of the pain has faded.  
  
"In college, and a bit after, we split up for all intents and purposes when I got into acting seriously and the separations were too much," Jack replies. "I mean, that wasn't the only thing, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back."  
  
Christian nods slowly. "Were you living together?" he asks, hoping it doesn't seem to invasive a question.  
  
"In the sense that we had a place together and shared a bedroom. In the commitment sense, I still don't know for sure," Jack says. "Not that it was bad, or that I necessarily wanted it. It was just... very complicated."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Jared had a lot of family problems. His father died, and his mother remarried a complete prat, with a son who hated his new stepbrother. It was really bad for Jared and I sometimes think that he was looking for stability as much as someone to have sex with," Jack says. "And we were so young, too. I mean, it was ten years ago, and it feels like forever."  
  
"Yeah," Christian agrees. "Ten years seems like a long time ago." Ten years ago, he'd been a new groom, trying desperately to ignore the fact that he was gay.  
  
"Things can change so much in a few years," Jack shakes his head at how much. Ten years ago he'd been mourning the end of his first serious relationship, thinking it would be the worst thing in his life.   
  
"Yeah," Christian whispers. He starts a slow, gentle stroke over Jack's knee again. "I don't feel old, until I start thinking of my life in terms of decades." He looks up at Jack. "Odd, isn't it?"  
  
"Not odd at all," Jack answers, and he feels a pleasant, low hum of arousal go through him at Christian's touches. He doesn't want more, but would accept it if offered. "When you think of how long you've been alive, it's more than you realize."  
  
With a laugh, Christian nods. "That's what I mean, I think -- it's been a long time."  
  
"Yes," Jack laughs. "I know it should feel like more, I'm an uncle and that's supposed to make you feel nearly as old as being a parent... but sometimes it just... hits you."  
  
"Exactly."   
  
"Some days I feel a hundred. Others, I feel twelve," Jack laughs. "Does that sound weird?"  
  
"Nah," Christian says with a wink. "Your laugh sounds perfectly fine to me."  
  
"And sometimes my lover acts like he's twelve," Jack says. And he knows. They might not have consummated things physically, but that's the word that fits them. Lovers.  
  
"Well, sometimes my lover is all together too serious, and needs someone to remind him he's not thirty-five yet." Christian beams up at him, squirming a bit to increase the heat on his back.  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Jack says, an expression of pure, complete love on his face. "Because you are right. I sometimes let the title wear me, rather than wear the title."  
  
"Fuck the title." Christian raises his chin defiantly.  
  
"You think so?" Jack says. He's tempted to agree, far too much of the time.  
  
He nods. "Sometimes, at least. Like right now."  
  
"Right now, definitely," Jack nods. "Just Jack and Christian, enjoying the night together."  
  
As Christian reaches up, his expression softens. He caresses Jack's cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. "Absolutely," he whispers.  
  
"That's all I want right now," Jack whispers back, reaching out to touch Christian. "Just this."  
  
Christian doesn't flinch away from Jack's advance. He feels bold, nearly invincible, after Liam's beating.   
  
His fingers rest on Christian's check, softly touching. "This is good," he whispers.  
  
With a quick turn of his head, Christian kisses Jack's fingertips. "Very good," he whispers, looking up at him through his lashes.  
  
"Your pace," Jack says, reminding himself more than Christian. "You're the one who says how far we go..."  
  
"Yeah," he whispers with a nod. Christian slides his hand around behind Jack's head, toying with the short hair at the base of his skull. "You're beautiful, you know," he murmurs.  
  
"Yeah?" Jack asks, softly. He's never thought of himself as beautiful. "You too," he says. "Inside and out."  
  
Christian tugs lightly. "Come here," he whispers with a small smile.   
  
"How do you want me?" Jack asks, moving closer. "Just tell me. I want to do as much as you're comfortable with."  
  
"Just..." _God, those eyes._ Christian's tongue flickers out over his lips as he pulls Jack closer. "Just a kiss," he whispers against Jack's mouth.  
  
"Our first," Jack whispers back, pressing his lips closer to Christian's. It feels so very good, even better than his fantasies. They were like echoes, at best, of how good it feels. "Yes..." he whispers.  
  
Christian presses just a bit harder. He can feel Jack's breath on his skin, can feel his heartbeat in his throat against the heel of his hand, hair soft under his fingertips.  
  
"Love you," Jack whispers, not wanting to break the kiss but needing to move back enough to breathe. "So good..." he moves just a little closer.  
  
"Yes." Christian nips at Jack's mouth, chaste but hungry little kisses. A small noise, not exactly a moan but too needy to be a sigh, escapes him as he slides his hand back, raking his fingers through Jack's hair.  
  
Jack wasn't going to get hard. He wasn't planning on it, but his cock has other ideas. He tries to move his hips away, not wanting to scare Christian, but continuing the kisses.  
  
This time, the sound is definitely a moan, but it's not coming from Christian's bedroom.  
  
"What... who was that? It wasn't you?" Jack is a little disoriented.  
  
"What?" Christian whispers as he looks toward the door. "Shhh." He listens for a moment, looks at Jack when they hear another moan from downstairs.  
  
"Definitely not us," Jack laughs a little, not quite uncomfortable. "Well, at least it seems like things are gong all right with Liam and Chris..."  
  
Christian closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh. "Sorry about the... soundtrack," he says with a wince.  
  
Jack's gone red by now, and it's not the flush of desire, though there's still some of that mixed in. "It's okay. I guess you weren't expecting this any more than I was."  
  
"Not exactly, no." Christian looks toward the door. He could close it, but it's one of the few rules Liam has, and he knows it's as much for his protection as it is for Liam's peace of mind. "Music?" he asks Jack.   
  
"That would be a really good idea," Jack nods. "Something to, um, drown both out, with a bit of luck. If... if we continue."  
  
With a quick nod, Christian rolls off the bed and walks over to his laptop, which - thankfully - he hadn't damaged in his tantrum earlier. He calls up his Enigma playlist, and turns up the volume. "Better?" he asks before leaving the computer.  
  
"Much," Jack nods. They can hear each other, but it's enough to give the illusion of privacy, for Liam and Chris too. Not that he really cares about them, looking at the curve of Christian's side...  
  
Christian catches Jack's appraisal, and slowly saunters back to the bed. He rests one knee on the foot of the bed. "Lie down," he whispers.  
  
Jack does, eyes still on Christian, wondering what he's going to do. Hoping it's... anything he's comfortable with.  
  
Christian drops his hands to the mattress, and crawls up over Jack's body on all fours. He stops once he can look down into Jack's eyes, his hands on either side of Jack's biceps, and straddling his hips. "Where were we?" he asks in a whisper.  
  
"Right about here..." Jack leans up for another kiss, lips opening under Christian's. "Remember, this stops when you say. I won't ask why and I won't get angry. This is for you. For us."  
  
"Us." He licks along the seam of Jack's lips. "I like that."  
  
"Yeah..." Jack smiles. "I like that too." He opens his lips, pulling Christian's tongue into his mouth.  
  
Carefully, he lowers his torso down so that his elbows are resting on the bed. "Let me know if I'm too heavy," he whispers before kissing Jack again, a bit harder than before. Moving like this pulls at the welts across his back, and the two sensations together have his cock aching to be touched again.  
  
If he shifts, just _so_... he can just barely feel the ridge of Jack's erection through their pants.  
  
"Not... not that I know of..." Jack's hips rise of their own accord, seeking more, seeking Christian. It's good... very good. Better than... "Better than my fantasies," he whispers. "This..."  
  
Squeezing his knees together a bit to pull his hips away from Jack's, he kisses the corner of Jack's mouth. "Slow," he whispers, and places another kiss on his cheek. "Slow." He draws Jack's earlobe into his mouth, sucking lightly.  
  
"Slow..." Jack echoes. "Just... don't stop yet, please?" He can ask this. That's okay. Christian's okay, and he's fine. "Love your mouth..."  
  
"Not stopping. Just slow." He nips Jack's throat, just below his ear. "Feel so... perfect," he whispers, shifting a bit from side to side to glide their cocks over each other.   
  
"Yes," Jack whispers. "Slow is good... oh, god... so good..." he angles just a little and his lips can taste Christian. "Even better."  
  
Christian tilts his head to one side. "More, Jack," he whispers. He rests his forehead on the bed beside Jack's. "Feels... _fuck_."   
  
Softly biting on Christian's neck, Jack whimpers against it. "God..." murmured words, tongue licking.  
  
"Again, please Jack, again," he moans, lowering his hips a fraction, bringing them into more contact.   
  
"This?" Biting again, still soft, not wanting to frighten him. It's good to do it softly, more elegantly and just so good when Christian reacts.  
  
His whole body shivers, and there are little damp spots on his pants around the head of his cock, little sticky patches on his abdomen. "Yes Jack, jesus." Christian raises his head, and runs his fingers into Jack's hair, pulling lightly at it as he balls his hands into fists. "Show me," he whispers breathlessly. "Show me." He stretches his legs down along Jack's, until he's lying on top of his lover. "Show me."  
  
"Ohgod," Jack gasps at the feel of Christian lying on top of him. "Wasn't... wasn't gong to. Was going to let you do..." he kisses him again, his teeth out slightly. "Was going to hope you wanted..." he's as close as he can be to Christian, moving against him.  
  
"Show me," Christian whispers again as they move together. He rubs his body along Jack's, the music putting him at ease.   
  
"Don't..." Jack smiles, deep and real, everything showing on his face. "Don't want to come in my pants. Can we..." he hesitates, but Christian asked. "Take them down, if not off?" He punctuates the words with more kisses and a bite or two.  
  
"Close?" Christian asks, looking down at him, returning each kiss and bite. He himself isn't, but he's already come once this evening. He shifts a bit to one side so he can work one hand down between them. He makes short work of the tie on the sweatpants, and pushes them down to Jack's hips.   
  
"More... making sure I don't go off in my pants," Jack says. "It's uncomfortable enough to want to avoid if possible." He was going to say something else, but then Christian actually touches his cock and words seem to be as lost as his mind.  
  
"Someday," Christian whispers in his ear. He grinds slowly against Jack's hip.   
  
"Someday... what?" Jack murmurs, pressing his body a little closer, though he wouldn't have thought that was possible. "Tell me, even if we can't... do more than talk right now."  
  
Christian smiles. If he's not careful, this is going to turn into a kink. "Make you come, all over, everywhere," he breathes in Jack's ear.   
  
"Make you come in your trousers, make you wear them to one of your little fetes..."  
  
"I... I can do that now," he murmurs, body reacting to Christian's breath. "Or... do you have something in mind... "Oh... oh, *fuck*! Christian..." he shivers at the idea. "I would. For you... anything."  
  
"Jesus," Christian groans, pressing down hard. It's the promise of _anything_ that does it, makes his balls ache, his cock beg to be buried inside Jack's heat. He bites down on Jack's throat, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that there will be a mark later.  
  
"Yes..." Jack presses back up, trying to get as much contact as possible, all that skin and heat and it's just right. "God... _Christian_..." he's aching and hard and so fully open. "If... if we could... would have you in me..."  
  
The suggestion is enough for Christian to act. He pushes his hand down inside the wadded up fabric just past Jack's cock, under his balls. "Spread," Christian whispers, rubbing his index finger up and down the crease of Jack's ass. His own erection is hot, trapped between his abdomen and Jack's upper thigh.  
  
He can't move far, but it's enough, and he does, spreading as much as he can. He pushes up, feeling Christian hot against him, too, needing more contact, more... everything he can have. He kisses Christian, wherever it is he reaches, just a patch of warm flesh, not sure where so he doesn't bite down in case it's viewable in public.  
  
As much as Christian doesn't want to hurt Jack -- at least, not in a bad way -- he's not about to stop to look for lube. The chances are too high that the adrenaline and testosterone rush he's on will run out and leave him high and dry, like he was with Adam. He pushes his index finger in, just the tip, trying to make it somewhat comfortable. He pulls it out slowly, and pushes it in a bit farther the next time.  
  
The slowness is good, and reminds Jack of Christian saying that earlier. "Good..." he whispers, not clenching around the finger, just letting it happen as Christian needs it to. He wants this to happen but he knows it might not, so he's going to enjoy it while it lasts and hope it goes to the end for them both. He kisses him again, and looks into Christian's eyes. He lets everything he's feeling show, how much this means, in his eyes.  
  
"That okay?" Christian asks softly, looking down into Jack's face. H keeps his nails filed short for a reason, but still, if he was scratching when he shouldn't, he wouldn't really know unless Jack told him.  
  
"It's... good," Jack nods. "Doesn't hurt. Will tell you if it does. Want this... you..." he smiles, liking Christian's concern. "Love you."  
  
His body sags on top of Jack's for a moment, and then he surges to his knees. He straddles Jack's legs, and braces himself up with one arm. His free hand yanks at the buttons on his pyjama pants, and he pulls his cock out.  
  
"God..." Jack watches, fascinated, as Christian does that. "So... need..." he's not even aware of what he's saying any more. His mind is lost to the heat and passion between them. No matter what, this is real. Theirs.  
  
Cock in hand, Christian raises his right leg, and pushes his knee between Jack's. He lowers himself down, cock hanging thick between Jack's thighs, and then swings his leg back so it's on the outside of Jack's again. He flexes his hips once, pumping his cock between Jack's tightly-pressed-together thighs. He covers Jack's mouth with his own, hungry and demanding.  
  
He presses even harder, this is as close as they'll get for a while, but it's more than enough... far more than he expected, that tiny part of his mind that's still rational tells him. "Christian... Christian..." over and over, moans and whimpers in between his name, cock pressed between them, squeezing on Christian's cock. "Close..." he moans.  
  
"Back," Christian pants, winding his arms under Jack's shoulders. "Scratch my... _god_." His precome slicks the channel between Jack's thighs, and he pumps his cock into it in earnest. He pulls one hand back to pinch Jack's nipples.  
  
"Yes..." the pain and pleasure mix, and he wants that for Christian too... his hands move around, he scratches, rubs, not even sure what he's doing, just trying to be gentle and not break the skin on the welts, they're hot to his touch and so, so good to feel. It never even occurs to him that it wasn't him, it's just all good, all taking over his senses. He scratches harder between the welts, though, playing with the skin.  
  
"Fuck!" Christian groans loudly. "Come, Jack, gonna," he chants, "Gonna, fuck!" He bites at Jack's throat again as he's drawn right to the edge by Jack's hands on his back. He doesn't care if the hickeys will be visible, he _wants_ them to be visible, wants the world to know Jack is owned, Jack belongs to him, should have it tattooed on his ass, branded on somewhere.  
  
"Come... coming..." Jack shouts, Christian's teeth providing the last, tiny, bit of stimulation needed. It takes him completely, he stiffens under Christian, a muffled cry as he buries his mouth in Christian's shoulder the only sound as he finally, finally comes. He doesn't quite pass out, but he knows he checks out for a few seconds, he can feel it.  
  
Hot, sticky, pulsing, and Jack's. The hand Christian had been twisting Jack's nipple with moves lower, down under Jack's ass to clutch him up against Christian's body. He continues thrusting, reveling in the feel of Jack's slick release being smeared between them, Jack's mark on him, and it feels like heaven but it's just not... quite... enough.   
  
Christian groans loudly, letting himself fall limp on top of Jack. He could keep going, keep pumping away, but he knows whatever spark had him right on the edge is gone now, and no matter how long he rubs against Jack he's not going to make it. With a heavy sigh, he rolls a bit to the side, carefully extracting his cock from between Jack's legs. "Good," he whispers in Jack's ear, petting his hair. "So good."   
  
The feeling of things changing would hurt under any other circumstances, but it's... as okay as it can be. Jack moves closer, holding Christian. "Good, but..." he murmurs, kissing him softly. "Not this time together." It's not even disappointment, just a vague, unformed sadness that they couldn't both reach that height.  
  
Being held makes him feel claustrophobic, so it isn't long before Christian squirms out of Jack's embrace to envelop Jack in one of his own. He kisses Jack's forehead, his hair, runs his hand in a soothing repetition over his back. "Doesn't matter." He nuzzles, tilts Jack's face up so place a tender kiss on each corner of his mouth. "Was more than I thought could happen."  
  
"Yeah?" Smiling, just glowing from his own pleasure and feeling Christian. "It was... much more than I ever expected. It's... it helps to know why we're here, you know?" He hopes Christian gets that. That it's about what they'll have.  
  
He cups the back of Jack's head in one hand, and holds him tight for a moment. "I'll get better," Christian whispers into his hair. A shiver runs through him, although he isn't sure why. Everything is starting to crash down around him at once, and it shows in the trembling of his limbs.  
  
"Are you all right?" Jack asks, feeling him tremble. "Do you need to be more separate? I'm okay. I'm better than okay." He can feel the atmosphere change. "Just tell me, if you can. Even if you need Liam. Just tell me."  
  
"Cold," he whispers, trying to curl closer to Jack, where only moments ago he was trying to escape from Jack's grasp. "Blanket?"  
  
Jack pulls it up from under them and wraps them both in it. "This okay?" he asks, letting Christian settle as he wants to, he's a little chilly himself, now he thinks of it, but the blanket seems to be helping.  
  
Christian nods, teeth chattering. "B-better." He grabs a handful of pink shirt, and pulls Jack closer. He tucks himself in against Jack's chest. "Love you," he whispers. "Don't go."  
  
"Not going anywhere," Jack says, his arms going around Christian. "Not until you ask me to." Or Liam does, but he doesn't worry about that any more. "Promise," he says, totally seriously.  
  
"'kay." Between the folded-over blanket and Jack, Christian is held almost immobile, and it helps calm him. He can move his hand on Jack's chest, turn his head, but that's about all. It's comforting, warm, and before long his breathing evens out, becomes slower and deeper.  
  
"Sleepy?" Jack asks, suddenly realizing he has no idea of the time, but his body has decided that it wants to sleep. Though he thinks he can stay awake if Christian does. He likes this, likes holding him this way. Protective.  
  
Christian is silent, except for his steady breaths against the base of Jack's throat.  
  
Jack falls silent too, not wanting words to come between them, because just this is all he wants. Christian in his arms, the warmth of his body. Yes. This. He smiles as he lets himself relax.  
  
[Link](http://www.journalfen.net/users/bales/12990.html) |   



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